Chain of Command
by Eirian1
Summary: The IOA replaces Carter, allies are alienated in spite of Sheppard's best efforts and the team is ambushed off world and hampered by a lack of intel, while answering a call for help. Virtual Season 5 Episode 2
1. Act 1

Author's disclaimer: I do not own _Stargate Atlantis_ and its associated characters. MGM does, for which, for the most part, they have my utmost respect. No copyright infringement is intended in writing these stories.

My deepest respect also goes to the talented actors that brought to life the characters we see in _Stargate Atlantis._ My portrayal of the characters here is based on my perception of the work of Joe Flanigan, Jason Momoa, Rachel Luttrell, Paul McGillion, David Hewlett, Amanda Tapping, Robert Picardo and Connor Trinneer. Without these people and those that came before them, there would have been no _Atlantis_ as we know it today.

Other assorted original characters (i.e. those that don't really appear in the show) are my own creation, and they, along with the original material presented here are © Eirian Phillips 2008.

Story is rated for mature readers, according to whatever rating system is adopted these days for Fan Fiction. It changes on a site by site basis… It was so much easier way back when…

There may be other virtual seasons of _SGA_ out there in cyberspace. Some may even be unofficially official. However, as a writer, I don't believe that this should discourage others from having their own ideas about things. Mine are presented here.

I can be reached at Feedback is always welcome and emails are usually answered.

Characters and events are purely fictitious, and any similarity to anyone living, transformed, dead, cloned or in any alternate universe or timeline is entirely coincidental.

**Stargate Atlantis**

**Chain of Command**

Refocus. Prioritise. Defend.

_"The I.O.A. is initiating a new policy: immediate recall of all base personnel. From now on, we'll be focussing entirely on the defence of this city. Furthermore, Doctor, your department is going to be scaled back. Without the Gate Bridge, and with the need to keep at least one ship in orbit at all times for defensive purposes, re-supply is going to be difficult. We need to prioritise."_

_"I don't understand this. I'm already under-staffed as it is."_

_"Only because you've over-extended yourself with all these humanitarian efforts and your continued attempts to find an antidote for the Hoffan drug. Once you have refocused your attention back to the medical needs of this base and its personnel, I don't think you'll have a problem."_

_Woolsey and Keller – The Last Man_

Act 1

Ronon shifted uncomfortably as he looked around the briefing room at each of his friends. It had been less than twenty four hours since their desperate attempts to find Teyla, and the subsequent deadly battles with the Wraith after being rescued from the ruins of Michael's facility. Their injuries, at least the physical ones, had barely begun to heal, but at least they had had some time to bond and to begin to assimilate what had happened.

Of course, then came the inevitable – the inquisition. Carted had delayed as long as she could in sending the report to Stargate Command. She must have known it would not be a favourable response, not with the outcome as it was.

He sighed as he turned his head to the seat usually occupied by Teyla. He missed her. He missed her intelligent opinions, framed within the culture and experiences of the Pegasus galaxy. He missed the gentleness and concern she showed for everyone that suffused her words and, even when she was critical of plans and ideas, made people feel that their voice had been heard.

Her place was occupied by Halling. As a representative of their Athosian allies, and having been held captive for so long by Michael, he was able to provide them with invaluable insight and information. Ronon knew that without the Athosians' knowledge, to augment his own, the Atlantis Expedition would be perilously uninformed.

"We were not the only ones," Halling said in answer to a question that had just been asked of him, "but we were kept apart from the others."

"Why?" Sheppard asked.

"Which of us can truly claim to know that one's mind?" Halling asked in response, speaking of Michael.

"Well you must be able to make some kind of guess," Sheppard said, and Ronon could hear the irritation mounting in his friend's voice. He knew Halling was doing his best and was unused to these kinds of situations and wanted to try and help the man out, but he couldn't find the words. He couldn't even think of what Teyla might have said.

In the end it was McKay that spoke. "Sheppard, I know you're worried, we all are, but grilling Halling about something he can't tell you is counter productive," he said, "I lay for hours watching Michael working and—"

Ronon glared at him, cutting off whatever had been about to come out of his mouth. He knew Rodney McKay well enough to know that, more often that not, the man's mouth ran away with him, and if he was talking about Michael's work then the chances were that he would let slip about Lorne's condition.

It was the one thing that Sam had, quite deliberately, left out of her report to Stargate Command. She'd called them all together after she'd sent the data-burst that had contained the report and had explained to them that she felt it would be against their, and certainly Lorne's, best interest to tell them until they were sure they had no other choice. Every single one of them had agreed to mention it to no one outside of their small select group. Not even other base personnel. Jennifer was to have sole responsibility for Lorne's care so that not even her medical staff would be involved and risk compromising their silence.

"And what, Doctor McKay?" All eyes, including Ronon's own, turned to face the new Commander of the Atlantis Expedition.

"Well," to give McKay his due, he almost sounded convincing, "I was just going to say that I couldn't even begin to guess at Michael's motives for anything – even having been so close to him. The Athosians, I'm sure, didn't get to see much of Michael himself. Right, Halling?"

"It is as you say, Doctor," Halling answered, "It was usually his soldiers that came to do his bidding."

"Indeed, Michael's soldiers…" Woolsey's voice held a good deal of suspicion and his posture was threatening as he leaned toward McKay. Ronon couldn't help but glance at Doctor Keller, wondering why she had been called to the meeting, and a very uncomfortable feeling began to stir, snakelike, in the pit of his belly.

**

The night was uncomfortably cold. The frost crept along the ground and condensed the air around their feet, some kind of arcane breath that came as a precursor to the arrival of the Haradian Hag… and arrive she would, for the Red Star had appeared in the heavens several hours before.

Miran walked through his people, watching the way each of them huddled together with their families, perhaps for warmth, but mostly out of fear. He had no family, and neither did he feel fear, only anger; anger at their continued subjugation by the Haradian people and frustration at his own people's apathy, their unwillingness to fight back.

Once again the Red Star had appeared, and once more they had all gathered, lambs to the slaughter, awaiting the coming of the one who would sniff among their young womenfolk, and select the one that would be expected, willingly, to make the sacrifice for all of them, and go with the Hag to the Haradian city, to suffer the ancestors-only-knew what kind of torment and torture.

He stopped walking and pulled his jacket closer around him against the cold. His eyes still moved among the crowds of people, seeking out the one for whom his anger, his need for action, burned most brightly. She looked up and met his eyes in the same moment. She was huddled with her mother and father, with her brother, who also met Miran's gaze. _Not tonight… please not this time, _his expression said.

Lisstha stood resolute. Afraid, yes, he could see it in her eyes, but he knew she would not falter or fail to do her duty by her people if The Choice should fall on her. None of the young women would. None of them dared, and for most of them it had become so ingrained, so expected that not a single one among them would even consider marriage until they had passed through three such nights as these without being chosen.

It had become their tradition, a way of life for them, as had accepting those others that the Haradia brought to their settlement, expecting to be cared for, to be subsumed into their community as wives and foster sisters, husbands and foster brothers, but it was wrong… and sooner or later the others would see it – when the last of the elders passed as smoke beyond the Ancestral Ring – and would finally hear Miran's words, and stand with him against their Haradian masters.

The low hum that shook through their bellies filled the air for a moment and in the distance a flash of light split the darkness.

"She is coming."

"The Hag is coming."

"It is time."

The many frightened whispers began to pass among the villagers, as much a part of the ritual as was their gathering out in the cold to await their tormentors.

"And we will stand ready," the young women answered together.

As he watched Lisstha's lips move to shape the words, Miran's fists clenched at his sides and his eyes filled with angry tears.

"No," he cried and began to push his way through the crowd of people, who had started to draw together as the time approached. "This is wrong. Can't you _see_ that?" He broke through to the front of the crowd and turned to face them, spreading his arms wide. "How many _more_ of our young women must we let them take? How many more lives must they destroy before you—?"

"Peace, young Miran," Dannad, the eldest of the leading council stepped forward into the space alongside him. He held out his hand toward him. Miran knew it was meant to be a calming gesture, but it only enflamed his anger still further.

"Don't patronise me, Dannad," he virtually spat the words in the elder's direction.

"No one is patronising anyone," Dannad answered softly, genuine in his concern, "but we all know how much you feel for young Lisstha and that it is understandable, given that, why you would speak this way."

Lisstha stepped away from her mother's arms, coming forward to appeal to him. "I know you want to protect me. I'm not afraid."

"You _should_ be." he told her, reaching out, first to her and then to all of them. "You should, all of you, be afraid – and angry too. There's no _need_ for this. We shouldn't have to—"

"Miran, please…" Lisstha's light touch again his chest cut him off. He automatically covered her hand with his to hold it there, to feel its warmth against where his heart beat wildly inside of him. "Do not speak this way. She is coming and could hear you, and then you _know_ what will happen if she does."

"But Lisstha—"

She reached up then, to cup her hand around the back of his neck and draw him down to meet her waiting, but suddenly fierce kiss. All resistance in him melted away and he wound his arms tightly around her, deepening the kiss, shameless before the entire village in the way his frightened, needful hunger possessed her, made her his.

When the kiss broke, she leaned her head against his, breathing hard and whispered, "It will be all right."

He did not have the time to reply. From the edge of the village came the sounds of footsteps, slow and laboured, and the rustling of the deep grasses that grew there. He spun around to face the direction of their coming, holding Lisstha close against him as he peered into the darkness along with the others.

The Hag came, as she always did, supported by two men. Both carried weapons strapped against their thighs, though they never had to use them. The fear of the Hag, and what defying her would mean for the village, kept the villagers away from them, away from the old Haradian woman.

He felt the old woman's eyes on him as though a physical touch. Against every instinct he turned his head, raised his eyes to look on her. Of themselves his arms tightened protectively around Lisstha and he shivered in near revulsion.

The crone was quite simply the most ancient creature he had every seen. Her bones were bent and twisted with the effort of supporting her withered flesh for so many years. Her hair, what little she still possessed, was as grey as the frosty air that oozed along the ground ahead of her. However, where her eyes should have been filmed and milky with age, they remained piercing and sharp, pale and faded certainly, but possessed of a fire that burned from somewhere within the old witch.

"Let the women… stand forward," she said and her voice, little more than a whisper, poured ice over every nerve he possessed.

**

"So what exactly are you saying, Doctor McKay?" Woolsey asked, his voice precise in the way he schooled the inflection.

"I'm saying that I haven't yet had the time to talk to Zelenka about what they saw, about the sensor data, about _anything_ that happened aboard Daedalus, so I can't help you."

Sheppard frowned again at the combative way that Woolsey was proceeding with the debriefing. He was almost acting as though he was _trying_ to make everyone angry and insecure.

"But every indication is that the Wraith now possess some kind of super-weapon capable of destroying a ship with a single shot." Woolsey said.

"No," Rodney countered, holding up a hand, finger raised. "That could have been a lucky shot. Michael's ship could have suffered an overload. There are any number of things that—"

"The report from the officer aboard Daedalus says that the beam was reflected back by Mi—" Woolsey began to argue.

"He also reported," Rodney snapped, "that the sensors on the Daedalus were down. So you're talking about human perceptions. People often misinterpret—"

"We all saw it, Rodney," Sheppard sighed at having to contradict Rodney, but he had to stop McKay from playing into Woolsey's hands and making a total fool of himself.

"All right!" The exasperation in the scientist's voice rang out across the room. "Even _if_, and I still think it's a pretty big if, the Wraith have developed some kind of new technology, fine! They're using it against each other and against Michael. We don't know of its effectiveness against non-wraith technology. So, great, they're blowing each other out of existence. Let them!" He threw up his hands.

"My point, Doctor McKay," Woolsey went on, apparently unruffled, "Is that while you have been busy with whatever it is you have been doing these last – how long is it, three years, four? – the Wraith have continued to grow in both number and military effectiveness and—"

"All right, that's enough!" Sheppard couldn't hold off any longer. Not with Woolsey getting so personal. "If you're about to suggest that the members of my team have been sitting around on their asses while the Wraith have been running freely around the galaxy you just better be prepared for the indigestion you'll get when I shove your words so far down your bureaucratic throa—"

"Are you threatening me, Colonel Sheppard?" Woolsey snapped indignantly, "because if you are—"

"You know my reputation, _Mister_ Woolsey," Sheppard emphasised the civilian title just a little. He hadn't meant to be quite so graphic in his rebuttal of the man's insinuations, but truth be told, Woolsey had always irritated him, and was getting completely under his skin now. "Even if I were, when I last looked, strategy and ordnance research came under military jurisdiction and I'm still the ranking military officer in command of this expedition so—"

"For how much longer is the question though, isn't it, Colonel?" Woolsey said.

"I don't think so," Sheppard said, refusing to allow himself to be baited on that particular subject. "No one wants the job, Richard. Why do you think they sent you?"

There was silence in the room for several seconds and Sheppard sat back with an almost satisfied smile on his face.

Eventually Woolsey said, "Well, Doctor McKay, when you _do_ get a chance to look over the data from the Daedalus concerning the new Wraith weapon, I'd appreciate your insights and your opinion of how we might best be able to defend against them."

"Of course," Rodney and he glanced over at Sheppard in silent gratitude.

"While we're on the subject of the Wraith," Woolsey shrugged further back into the fabric of his uniform, "perhaps you'd care to enlighten me on the one you've consulted with on several occasions."

"Todd?" Sheppard frowned, "Nothing to tell."

"That's not my understanding of the situation," Woolsey argued, "In fact, during the recent months, Colonel Carter's reports have indicated that you've collaborated—"

"Collaborated?" Ronon snapped in question.

Sheppard cringed and quickly put in, "I'd hardly call it that," he shifted a little in his seat, "we merely _suggested_ that if he were to share any Intel he might have on Michael's whereabouts then _we _might be able to—"

"Colonel Sheppard, you _gave_ him our research on the Hoffan drug." Woolsey leaned forward. "Isn't that right, Doctor Keller?"

"Some…" the doctor began stammering out her answer, clearly caught off guard, "I mean… that is… it wasn't all of it, just—"

"We determined what would be the safest part of the information to give to him and that was all we did," Sheppard said, his irritation level at Woolsey's continued efforts to undermine their actions, particularly with so much at stake and so little time remaining quickly rising to an almost unbearable level.

As much as Woolsey had obviously read the mission and field reports, _he_ did not at all seem bothered by the time constraints they were facing according to the information Sheppard brought back from his visit to their future.

Woolsey continued his inquisition, shuffling another set of files to the top of his stack and asked, "And what of the attempts to find a cure for Doctor Beckett?"

"Well," Keller started to answer as Woolsey turned a baleful eye in her direction. "With everything else that's been happening, I haven't really had the chance to engage in further research, I—"

"You see," Woolsey sat back, his hands resting on either side of the stack of files in front of him, "this is exactly the kind of thing that proves my point."

"And your point is?" Sheppard folded his arms in lazy defiance.

"Colonel Sheppard, the activities pursued by this expedition have, to date, been entirely too reactive. We need to refocus our attention on the current needs of base; prioritise our efforts by those that will most effectively alleviate our needs and, above all, defend the personnel and technology of Atlantis against hostile—"

"It isn't just about Atlantis any more," Sheppard argued, glancing toward Halling. "Take a look around you."

"That's as may be," Woolsey began, but Halling interrupted when he paused for breath.

"It is true, Mister Woolsey, that when the people of your expedition woke the Wraith; once more when you helped the people of Hoff refine their virus to be employed against them and then again when you tampered with the programming of the machines you call the Replicators, your people subsumed everyone into your troubles." He held up his hand to prevent Woolsey from interrupting. "While neither I, nor my Athosian brothers and sisters hold you to blame for these things, I do believe you now have a responsibility to help defend _all _the people of this galaxy against the threats they now face."

Woolsey's face darkened as he seemed to be gathering words in defence against what Sheppard knew to be the truth.

"Halling's right," Sheppard said, irritably, trying to bring the argument to an end. "Look, we don't have _time_ for this. Daedalus' sensors confirm Rodney's information – that Michael launched several ships before his cruiser blew. He was on one of them, I'm telling you, and he woulda had Teyla with him. Our priority now is finding out where those ships went so that we can finish what we started and get out there to rescue Teyla. She's counting on—"

"I'm sorry, Colonel Sheppard, but I can't authorise another rescue mission," Woolsey said, quietly, but firmly authoritative. "The loss of life has been too great already, and we can't waste any more time—"

"Waste!" Halling's chair flew across the room as the usually quiet and placid Athosian jumped to his feet. "Waste? How dare you!" He started to come around the table toward Woolsey in a manner that was anything but placid. Sheppard had to confess to being more than a little disappointed when Ronon quickly put himself between the two men.

"Take it easy, Halling, he didn't mean it like that," Ronon said in a soft growl, and with a look at Woolsey that was equally as, if not more, threatening than Halling's demonstration.

Halling angrily pushed Ronon's hand away from his chest. "He meant it _exactly _that way," he said, and then looking past Ronon to address Woolsey once more, added, "Teyla Emmagan is the leader of my people. We have shown nothing but friendship and loyalty to the people of your expedition, Teyla more than any other, Mister Woolsey. If our assistance, if our friendship truly means so little to you that you would leave her to the mercy of one such as Michael, then in her place I shall make sure that you must suffer our presence no more!"

Trembling visibly, as though the outburst had left him drained, Halling said not another word, but turned and left the briefing room. The automatic doors were nothing but a sigh behind him and Sheppard was certain that Halling would have been more satisfied if he could have slammed the door behind him.

**

Miran boiled with impotent rage, held immobile by the press of villagers who, not wanting to let go of their daughters and sisters until they had no choice otherwise, had surged to form a tight semi circle behind the line of women who stood forward for the Choice.

He could barely see where Lisstha stood with her arms wrapped around herself. She stood between a younger woman to one side and another, like herself, to the other.

Flanked by protective guards the Hag walked slowly down the line of women. Every now and then she would reach out to squeeze a pinch of a woman's arm or to turn her head from one side to another, much as would a farmer checking cattle or beasts of burden. When she did, the women did their best not to cringe, but each of them did none the less. Mostly, however, the Hag waved a small, flattish box in front of each one and paused before moving on.

Miran held his breath when she reached Lisstha. As if she felt the lack of breath in his lungs, Lisstha turned her head to peer in his direction and recoiled only slightly when the ages-old hands reached out to test her young flesh.

He knew it was deliberately meant as a taunt; that the old witch had seen him with Lisstha when she stepped into the clearing. Following hard on that realisation his rage sparked and once more caught aflame as he understood that, given what she must have witnessed, the crone would more than likely settle her choice on Lisstha, right or wrong. The inertia that held him snapped and he pushed his way forward.

"No!" he cried even as the old Haradian woman announced her choice.

"This one," she said.

"You can't, she—"

"Will stand as the one chosen from your village," one of the bodyguards snapped.

"Please, Miran," Lisstha wept as she spoke, "I'll go, I—"

"It was your last _time_, Lisstha," he pleaded, with her, with the villagers, even with the Hag herself, "her last time!"

"Her fate," the crone whispered, already retreating with one of her guards.

"Ensure that she is brought to the stone at the proper time," the remaining guard ordered, as he too withdrew.

**

The senior staff meeting had degenerated into chaos after Halling's angry departure. Both McKay and Sheppard had followed him, whilst Ronon had only been discouraged from taking out his gun and shooting Woolsey when Jennifer had physically put herself between the big Satedan and the new base commander.

"Leave it, Ronon," she said softly, pressing one of her hands against his chest, much as he had done Halling. The other she pressed against his hand that had already closed around the grip of his weapon. "He isn't worth it."

Ronon shook off her contact and stormed from the room, hardly placated by her words. For several moments afterwards there was near silence in the room. She quickly gathered her papers, nervous and wanting to leave.

Before she could, Woolsey said, "Thank you, Doctor Keller."

"Believe me, Mister Woolsey," she answered with a good deal of hostility in her own voice, "I didn't do it for you, and if I were you, after a thoughtless comment like that you'd be better to just stay out of everyone's way."

"Much as I appreciate the advice, Doctor," Woolsey answered with a calm irritation that reminded her uncomfortably of her father, "I'm not here to be liked."

"Good," she started, gathering up the rest of her paperwork. "Teyla is a good friend to the people of this base, so making comments like that is going to make certain that you won't be."

"It wasn't just a comment, I assure you," he countered, "It's a standing order."

"Well," she began to head to the door, "I'm sure you'll realise sooner or later that you'll have to… to… un-order it."

"Look, Doctor Keller," Woolsey moved a little in front of her to stop her departure. "Teyla has been with Michael for weeks now. There's no telling what he's done, or will do, or even if she's still alive."

"You heard what Colonel Sheppard said," she argued, even though she knew she should just walk around the man and leave, as the others had done. "He will have taken Teyla with him and—"

"You don't know that," Woolsey said, "He was perfectly happy to leave others behind."

"—and he didn't hurt the others."

"Didn't he?" Woolsey said. As she watched his eyes narrow in suspicion, Jennifer felt her stomach tightening in worry. Was he fishing, or did he already know?

"No," she lied, "he didn't do anything to either of them, in fact, he healed Doctor McKay's wounded arm quite expertly and from what Rodney said, had tried to help Major Lorne too."

"My point is—"

"No, _my_ point, Mister Woolsey, is that I have patients to attend to and don't have time to stand around and argue with you about things that may or may not have happened."

Without waiting for him to answer and make her tell yet more lies, Jennifer pushed past him and slipped between the opening doors.

"There's something you're hiding, Doctor," Woolsey's voice followed her through the doorway, "And rest assured, when I find out—"

Too angry to be intimidated she spun around and slapped her hands against the sides of the closing doors, halting their progress.

"You'll what, Mister Woolsey?" she snapped, "Fire me?"

"Well—"

"Everybody needs a doctor, and on this base, I'm it. And as far as medical decisions go, they're mine as well."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Woolsey asked sounding as puzzled as he was irritated.

"Just…" she turned away quickly as she felt her face starting to flush with colour, in guilt, "Just stay out of my infirmary," she snapped and then stormed away.

**

The meeting hall was awash with villagers as it always was after the visit from the Haradian Hag. Families huddled together in happy relief and elders served chunks of bread and hot tea from massive cauldrons hung over the central fire.

It seemed to Lisstha, who stood with her family apart from the others, that they always forgot that such times left _one_ family facing a loss. Today that fell to her and along with the fear of what was to happen to her she felt crushed by the weight of guilt for all the times that she and her family had behaved as the others were now.

A brief scuffle by the doorway of the hall drew Lisstha from her dark thoughts. Her heart sank still further however when she saw Miran. He was standing at the front of a small group of men, all of them trying to push their way into the hall.

"Turn back, Miran." One of the villagers stepped forward again to block Miran's path. "Your kind is not welcome here.

"My kind?" Miran spread his arms and turned full circle before the villagers, who were gathering now to make an audience for his foolishness. "When last I looked, Agrig, I was still of the village; still just like you."

"Not since you've been preaching rebellion," Agrig answered looking around at the villagers for support. A brief murmur answered his searching, but Lisstha found it hard to tell if it was one of assent or disagreement.

"Rebellion?" Miran spat the word in disbelief, then added in a voice of appeal, "What I advocate is for us to defend ourselves." He walked forward then, pushing past Agrig to take the centre of the hall as his own. "Far too long we have let the Haradians rule us with fear; take our young women; make us take in—"

"Have a care, Miran," another of the villagers stepped up to face him. Lisstha recalled the man clearly. He was Ynek, and before this last year she would have expected he would have been one of those men standing behind Miran. Early in the last year, however, he had taken to wife one of the others the Haradians brought, from time to time, to their village, and now Ynek and his wife had an infant daughter.

"It is not the outsiders I blame, Ynek," Miran answered earnestly, "your wife and others like her have been an asset to our village."

Lisstha considered Miran's words on many levels. What he said was true and, whilst his words soothed and appeased Ynek's growing temper, knowing Miran as she did she was sure that he did not mean them in quite the positive way that Ynek had heard them.

With the Haradians taking many of their young women, and the others rejecting love and marriage in the wake of the fear which had crushed even her own strong spirit, births had begun to decline. The village had started to die. If it were not for the outsiders that were brought, it would probably already be gone. Lisstha began to wonder just why the Haradians needed the women of her village quite so much as to go to so much trouble.

"We cannot hear your words, Miran," Ynek told him, "You _know_ what will happen if we try to defy the Haradians. We all know."

"It is a threat, Ynek, and a threat alone that has kept us subjugated for generations." Miran said. The frustration was clear in his voice.

"You don't know that. You can't." One of the older men stepped forwards, still cradling his grown daughter at his side. "There are histories of what happened before, when our grandfathers defied the Hag and brought destruction on the village.

"Tales," Miran said and turned to face the man. "And with no more certainty of truth than the threat of the demons the Haradians say they will bring."

"It is not the demons we need fear," one of the elders spoke up, "the Haradians themselves are more than capable of destroying us, and demons can be banished. No, it is the attacks that will come from the Haradians that would undo our lives if we stand against tradition now."

"It is not _tradition_," Miran said angrily. "It is _slavery_."

"No, Miran. We cannot take the risk. The tradition this year will stand and I am sorry for your loss." The elder glanced at Lisstha. She looked away, trying to banish tears from her eyes. Had she then hoped that Miran would persuade them to defend her right to stay with her people?

"Wait," Miran tried once more, "there is more." He turned to face all of the villagers now, his expression fervent. "I have been visited."

"Visited?" One of the women frowned in puzzled concern, and looked over at her husband to add his voice to the question.

"What do you mean, 'visited'?" the man asked.

"An angel," Miran said, "He came to me and offered us a way to bring help to the village if the Haradians come. Don't you see…? A sequence of sacred drawings on the altar beside the Ring of the Ancestors that will summon help to our cause. With help we do not need to submit to the Haradians any more."

"How can you be so sure he is not one of the demons the Haradians can bring if we do not do as they command?" another of the villagers asked fearfully. "You should beware of speaking with creatures beyond our ken."

"He was no demon, Marton," Miran said confidently, "He has offered us freedom and asks nothing in return. He recognises it is wrong to be slaves to any others. He gave me a device," he held up a small black box. It did not look like anything of use to Lisstha. "He said that once the Ancestors' Ring shows the blue of the light, we should hold the nub and speak into this to summon the others that will help us."

Lisstha sighed. Now he was speaking madness. His grief at the thought of losing her had scrambled his mind.

"Miran, please stop," she stepped away from her mother's arms and came to him then. "Can you not hear the madness in your words? How much do you think this hurts me? That you cannot see past your own sadness to the safety my leaving will bring to the village. I do not want this memory to take with me, Miran. I have loved you, and will always, no matter what befalls me when I leave, but I do not want to remember you insane with your grief."

"Lisstha speaks sense, Miran." The elder stepped away from a quiet conference he had been having with a number of the village husbands. "We all of us understand your grief, but for your own safety, my friend, I fear we have no choice but to secure you until you can find your right mind again… find your balance."

"Grieve for me, please," Lisstha said softly, "But do not insult what I do with talk of things that cannot be."

**

He watched from the shadows between two buildings as they led Miran away. Perhaps he had been wrong in his choice of whom he would use to bring about that which was desired. Perhaps he had not seen the rashness in the man – only the way he was driven in his love for the girl. If Miran could not persuade his fellow villagers to act, then he would have to try a more direct intervention, as he could not afford to fail in his own mission.


	2. Act 2

**Act 2**

Sheppard didn't knock. He didn't even think of knocking. He just stormed in and started on the offensive.

"I sure hope you're satisfied," he said, letting the volume of his voice speak to the intensity of his anger.

"Colonel Sheppard—" Woolsey started.

"Don't 'Colonel Sheppard' me!" Sheppard exploded. "Do you know what you've done?"

"I understand your concern," Woolsey said.

"No," he contradicted the expedition commander, "You don't understand anything."

Woolsey sighed and started to rise. Instead he stopped when Sheppard leaned down, bracing his arms against the desk and all but pushed his face right against Woolsey's.

"The Athosians were more than just our friends. They were our allies and our guides. We're still little more than strangers in this galaxy and without their knowledge and their help we would have been dead a long time ago."

"But, Colonel Sheppard, the fact remains – in attempting to rescue Teyla from Michael's compound the loss of life was completely unacceptable. Two whole teams, practically wiped out in the initial explosion and countless other souls lost in the subsequent battle against the Wraith."

"Woolsey," Sheppard pressed, "As bad as it was, as much as I might, in other circumstances, agree with you, it's _nothing_ compared to the loss of life to come if we _don't_ get Teyla back from Michael."

"Ah yes," Woolsey said. His sudden understanding lent his voice a very sarcastic edge. "Your Intel from the future."

"We _have_ to get her back, Richard," Sheppard began pacing, "and _before_ the baby arrives."

"Colonel, I've read the report, in some detail as a matter of fact. You found the place in McKay's information. She wasn't there. You've already changed the—"

"No," Sheppard argued again. "Michael still has her, and the baby, and once that's been born there'll be nothing to stop him from fulfilling his plan – destroying the Wraith and then subjugating the humans of this galaxy to his will. Those that survive, that is, just like McKay told me."

"Before you came back and changed things," Woolsey insisted, before going on, "and anyway, Colonel, wouldn't that in actual fact be a _good_ thing?"

"Letting millions of people die?"

"Ensuring that Michael has the capacity to destroy the Wraith."

"No!" Sheppard swung round and glared at Woolsey. "If this is the real agenda behind the IOA replacing Carter… If this was their plan all along—"

"Colonel Sheppard, are you suggesting that the IOA would sacrifice Teyla's life in order to achieve some kind of twisted—"

"No, Woolsey, _you_ did. You pretty much said as much."

"I said no such thing," Woolsey argued, finally standing and pushing out his chest in a self important display, "I was merely pointing out the positive of a tragic situation that has occurred as a consequence of war."

"Bullshit!" Sheppard spat, shocking Woolsey to silence. After a moment he added, "Besides which, it's an entirely moot point." He fixed Woolsey with another angry glare. "We're rescuing Teyla."

**

Lisstha thanked the man they'd left on guard at the door and pushed it open to go quietly inside to see Miran.

He sat up as soon as he saw her.

"Lisstha," he said her name with such emotion that she almost lost her resolve for what she came to tell him.

"Miran, you should not have spoken as you did," she said as he took her hands in his own.

"Someone had to," he told her, kissing her softly in greeting.

"This isn't the time. It isn't right."

"Lisstha, listen to me."

"No, Miran, it is _you_ must listen to me." She let go of his hands and walked away from him a little way. "I am willing to make this sacrifice to keep my family and friends safe. After I am gone you will be needed in the village."

He huffed in disbelief. "They would be happy to be rid of me."

"They would be foolish to be rid of you," Lisstha corrected him. "The village needs the strength that is in your blood if it is to survive."

"Survive for _what_?" he spat. His voice was heavy with scorn. "So that future generations can be stolen away just as they're taking you." He sighed and said, "Don't be a part of this, Lisstha, please."

"There is no other thing to do, Miran." She shook her head and turned to face him again, "I want you to promise something to me. I want you to—"

"Don't even _think_ that I'd take another than you."

"But you _have_ to, don't you see?" she told him. "I told you the village needs your strength and the only way for that is for you to bring children."

"No, Lisstha, _listen_," he said, "I won't let you go to this end, can't you see that? The angel that came, he told me what will happen. The journey does not end with the Haradians. You will be taken from them to a terrible servitude. A servitude to which all of the others have gone before, and there is no _chance _of return. The moment you cease to please those that would master you, you will die a horrible, painful death at their hands."

"You're wrong," she said, but wrapped her arms around herself in fear of his words. He had never lied to her before, why would he now, when there was so much to be said between them in so little time? "I know that you love me, and you wish to change my mind, but—"

"It is the truth. The angel told me—"

"You should be careful, Miran. Heed the words that have already been told to you. This may be no angel, but a demon sent to lead us all astray – or the servant of demons here to test our faith in what has always been." She came to him and gripped his hands again, tightly in her own. "This sacrifice is the only way to keep our people safe from the wrath of the Haradians. Please… I do not wish to spend this time in strife with you. I did not come to argue. I just…" her voice cracked slightly, "I just wanted to see you one last time."

"It does not _have_ to be a last time," he insisted, "Only _trust_ me."

"Trust the voice of this 'angel' you say you have seen," she pulled her hands from his. "No, Miran, not even for our love will I risk the safety of my people." She blinked back the tears that gathered in her eyes. "If you cannot see the foolishness of your words and deeds, then you are too blinded by the obsession of keeping me at your side. You cannot call it love unless you can let me go."

She turned from him and started toward the door. Desperately he called after her. Blinded by her tears now, she forced herself to keep on moving. She could not go to him now – it would break her resolve, and she could not allow herself to be responsible for the destruction of her village, no matter how deep her fear, or how much she wanted, truly wanted, to stay with Miran.

She closed the door on his desperate cries of her name; leaned against its smooth surface and let out the sob that had gathered in her chest.

"Goodbye, my love," she whispered.

**

It was a scene not unlike he had seen before on more than one occasion, only this time it carried a bitter air of finality. He stepped further into the corridor where the Athosians were piling their belongings ready to take them to the gate room.

"Halling," he called out to the man who had assumed the mantle of leadership. "Hold on."

"Colonel Sheppard," Halling said as he straightened up from checking on a number of cartons and boxes. "I know why you are here, and believe me, I understand the gesture, but my mind, and that of my fellow Athosians, is made up."

"Woolsey doesn't know what he's doing," Sheppard said, with an urgency infusing his usual lazy tones. "He's talking out of his ass."

"He is your leader, John Sheppard," Halling argued, "and even if you refuse to see it, I believe, he knows exactly your government's agenda."

"You—"

"How many times must we see it; be subjected to it before you too see as I see now. We have never truly been trusted, nor fully welcomed among your people."

"That's not true," Sheppard protested, the hurt clear in his voice, "there are no other people I'd rather have at my side."

Halling smiled, just a little. It was a sad smile, but genuine as he reached out and put a hand onto Sheppard's shoulder.

"I know that is true of you, John," he said softly, "but I am not speaking of you alone. I speak of your leaders and your military." He sighed as he continued, "This may be difficult for you to hear, Colonel, but there were several occasions when Teyla came, upset, to seek my counsel; when she would have left Atlantis to return to her people because of the things she felt, and the things that were said to her, and of her."

"Isolated individuals," Sheppard tried to argue, but Halling shook his head, stopping the words from finding their way from his lips.

"Not so, and well you know it," Halling said, then he sighed again, "It is no reflection on you personally that I choose to lead my people away now. Only it is the way it must be. If we Athosians were to stay in Atlantis now, we would have no more freedom than we had when we were prisoners of the one you call Michael."

"Halling—"

"Hear me in full, my friend, please," Halling held up his hand to stop him from saying anything more. "The one thing that kept us all from falling from our fear when we were captives was the certainty that Teyla would find some way to come to us in rescue. I know her. The thing that must sustain her through her own trials is the knowledge that we will do the same."

"We're going to find her," Sheppard interrupted. "I told Woolsey—"

"I am certain you did," Halling nodded, "but my decision must stand, Colonel Sheppard. Until Teyla's return to us, I must lead these people – what few we are – and my first responsibility is to their safety and comfort, both of body and spirit."

Sheppard sighed as he saw the resolute expression on Halling's face. "Where will you go?" he asked.

"Doctor McKay has located a suitable world for us to build our settlement."

"McKay—" Sheppard blustered, feeling a rush of antagonism toward his fellow team member at what he considered a betrayal.

Halling nodded. "Right after he and I had this self same argument that you and I now share." He sighed. "Sheppard, I know that you, and Doctor McKay, and even Ronon would argue the same for us to remain behind on Atlantis, but it just cannot be. We must find our own place in the galaxy once more… and we must find Teyla and bring her home to us."

**

It was long after dusk before Lisstha returned to her home. She had spent the time walking alone among her people, settling her grief and her fear. He parents and her brother were waiting for her, but she waved them away, still wanting solitude.

"I must rest," she told them softly. "I have a long journey ahead of me."

"Of course," her father said softly, and kissed her brow before letting her go to her room at the very rear of the long rectangular home. She walked the corridor slowly, her legs tired, as heavy as if they were made of stone. All of her limbs felt the same, as if walking away from Miran's love had somehow taken all of her strength. Lethargically she pushed open the door and went inside, not bothering to push it closed behind her. She knew her family well and trusted their respect of her to keep them from following.

When the voice came from behind her as she entered the room, she froze.

"If it were not so tragic and unnecessary you could say almost that it was an act of heroism." She heard the door close behind her as the voice spoke again. "Please do not do anything so foolish as to cry out or draw attention to my presence. That would make this all the more of a tragedy."

"Who _are_ you?" she demanded, spinning round to face the intruder.

"Miran told you already who I am." A figure stepped from the shadows behind the door. A man… he tilted his head to regard her. Miran's angel…

She knew the stories of the supernatural beings that were called angels among her people. She squinted at the one she saw standing framed by her door though half in shadow. Tall he was, certainly, and the half-light on his face lent him an otherworldly appearance, as did the pale quality of his eyes, but in spite of the strange markings she could see on the lighted side of his cheek, she would not have described him as at all reptilian in appearance as the legends of her people insisted.

"An angel would not counsel actions that would bring the wrath of the Haradians down on my village," she said defiantly.

He turned his head to the side, tilting it to regard her coolly. "I counsel salvation," he said. "The Haradians would take you from your village to give you in payment for their own freedom to ones far more insidious than the Haradia themselves. It is your journey's end that you should fear."

"I do not fear it because I know it will keep my people safe."

The 'angel' walked toward her, a cat stalking his prey and as he came into the light, even though each of her nerves and senses screamed at her to back away, her defiant resolve made her stand in place; accept his touch as he ran his fingertips over her face.

"So naïve," he said quietly, "for all these years your Haradian masters have kept from you, by their own servitude, the most fearful of terrors and you do not even know…" he shook his head then. "Such a shame it cannot continue."

"What do you mean?" she asked, stepping back in fear of his words.

"I must take you from here," he told her, sounding almost regretful, "If your people will not willingly comply with what must be, then I must ensure that it will occur by any other means."

"No," she said, beginning to look around her in panic for a way to escape him. "I will not allow you to do this."

"You have no choice," he said. He raised his hand toward her, and she saw he carried a weapon not unlike the ones the Haradian guards, that came with the Hag, carried. She had no time to make sense of the fact, for in the next moment a tingling heat spread through her body, enveloping every inch of her skin, pricking every nerve with intense sensation until her flailing senses could stand no more, and shrouded her in the comfort of oblivion.

The last thing she saw brought a scream, that never found escape, bubbling from deep inside her … the bloodied, severed head of the man she loved.

**

The last thing she expected was to see anyone with Major Lorne when she did her late evening rounds. It was for that reason that the small yelp escaped her as she opened the door of the isolation room in which Colonel Carter had suggested it would be safer to keep him, and not the 'who' of the figure standing at the bedside watching the steady pulse pass across the monitors. Nor the two armed guards who stood flanking the door through which she'd entered.

"Doctor Keller," Woolsey greeted her.

"Mister Woolsey," she said trying not to sound panicked. "What are you doing here?"

"Playing a hunch," he said mildly.

"I think maybe you shouldn't be here," Jennifer said, trying to sound official.

"I think I'm maybe ready for some answers now, Doctor," he said, the mildness becoming harsher, almost clipped.

"I don't know what you mean," she said and tried to move around him to check the flow of the drip, and the readings from the monitor, as well as make a visual examination of the Major.

"I'm neither blind, nor stupid, Doctor Keller. I know there's something going on, and looking at Major Lorne's appearance I believe I could make a pretty safe guess as to what that something is. Now either you start to provide me with some information or you will be leaving on the Daedalus when she returns to Earth." He caught hold of her arm and signalled to the soldiers, who began to step forward. "Which is it to be, Doctor?"

Jennifer sighed, "I'm following standing orders, Mister Woolsey, to say nothing."

"That's most admirable, I'm sure," he said without letting go, "but my command supersedes any orders given by my predecessor and I'm _telling _you that I want to know what's going on here."

Jennifer snatched her arm from his grasp and massaged the flesh where his fingers had dug in. She glared at the soldiers, until Woolsey signalled to them to step away again. Then she answered, "When he was a captive, Major Lorne was exposed to Michael's retrovirus."

"What!" Woolsey exclaimed as though it had been at the same time both his greatest fear and also the furthest thing from his mind. "Do you mean to tell me that he's going to turn into one of those… things… one of Michael's zombies?"

"I wouldn't put it exactly like that," she said.

"Then how _would_ you put it, Doctor?" Woolsey frowned deeply as he gingerly leaned forward to look more closely at the Major. "His presence in this state compromises the security of this base. Exactly when were you going to tell me?"

"I wasn't," she snapped, finally tiring of his officious threats, "it was a medical decision, and with the standing orders I'd been given I was to report only to Colonel Sheppard if and when the situation became unmanageable."

"This is mutiny!"

"This is the Hippocratic Oath, Mister Woolsey, because I'm certain that the next words out of your mouth are going to be some form of order that will threaten the life of my patient."

"How _dare_ you!" Woolsey blustered.

"Contradict me then," she said. "Prove to me that I'm wrong, and that you're not about to suggest that having Major Lorne around here threatens the safety of Atlantis," she fixed a mock surprised expression on her face and continued, "Oh wait, you can't… didn't you just say that only a moment ago?"

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Doctor Keller," Woolsey said angrily, "nor does it address the issue."

"Which is what?" she demanded. "That you're going to have your goons bundle me up and ship me back to Earth?"

"Which is keeping someone around who's turning into… into…"

"A hybrid, Mister Woolsey," Jennifer said, tired also of dancing around the issue. "Major Lorne was exposed to Michael's retrovirus and he's turning into a hybrid. And whilst I'd be the last to try and defend Michael, it's my medical opinion that, in giving him the drug, Michael may well have saved his life."

"What do you mean?" Woolsey asked, momentarily disarmed.

"Everything that Doctor McKay told me, and the report from the medics aboard Daedalus that rescued him from Michael's cruiser, suggest that without the retrovirus, there's no way the Major would have survived the crushing injuries he suffered in the collapse of the compound."

"But…" Woolsey appeared to consider her words and was confused by them, but only for a moment before he said, "but what are we going to do?"

"Do, Mister Woolsey?"

"Well, we can't leave him here like this."

"What do you suggest," she snapped, "that we lock him up? He still needs medical attention even though he's not in danger from his injuries any longer, his body's undergoing massive trauma. His DNA is literally being rewritten. Even now it's possible that the shock of that could kill him."

"There must be something you can do," Woolsey said, "some way to stop this."

"I've already been administering the strongest NTRI drugs that we currently possess, but they did little to slow the progress of the drug. A few days ago, I added in a small quantity of the original retrovirus that Doctor Beckett created, but—"

"Doctor Keller," Woolsey interrupted, "unlike my predecessor I'm neither a scientist nor have I a grasp of medical knowledge."

"I've been giving the major drugs that were specifically designed to combat infection by retroviruses, like AIDS." She paused to watch understanding pass over Woolsey's face, "They don't work on Michael's retrovirus. Doctor Beckett's retrovirus was a little bit more successful – at least at first."

"What do you mean?" Woolsey asked again.

"Carson created the drug to suppress the Wraith aspects of the DNA present in the Iratus bug from which our best information leads us to believe the Wraith evolved. Michael's retrovirus, from what I've been able to ascertain, imposes Wraith DNA onto the human genome. At first the two almost balanced each other out."

"But not any more?" Woolsey asked.

Jennifer shook her head, "Over time, it's almost as if Michael's retrovirus adapted to the presence of Beckett's and the changes started again. I'm still trying to find a solution, but as fast as I find something that works, even for a short time, the retrovirus adapts." She sighed, "besides which, genetics is not exactly my specialty."

"Perhaps Doctor Beckett—"

"No," she said, "I already considered that, and the risk of awakening Carson is unacceptable. I doubt he'd survive and I'm not prepared to have that on my conscience."

"But—"

"If we found a way to get our hands on some of the serum that Michael was injecting into Doctor Beckett, then perhaps I'd consider it, but… since you won't authorise any further action against Michael then that's out of the question. So… Major Lorne will have to make do with my efforts… and I remind you that he's _my_ patient, and therefore outside of your jurisdiction – unless of course you plan on making good on that threat of removing me as head of the Medical Division of this expedition?"

"God knows I should!" Woolsey exploded. "For your sheer insubordination toward me, but the irritating truth of the matter is that technically, since you were following standing orders, you've done nothing wrong. But keeping him here, this is insanity, doctor."

"This is defending the rights of my patient, Mister Woolsey, a member of the team. Didn't you say we needed to prioritise, and defend the Atlantis expedition?"

"Don't quote my own words back at me, Doctor Keller," Woolsey said angrily.

"How can I not?" she exclaimed in frustration. "Since the moment you stepped foot on this base you've been singularly unreasonable, and you haven't got a clue what's going on in the Pegasus galaxy or how best to deal with it. You won't listen to your advisors, and you alienate those with whom we've spent years building relationships. You can't keep on riding roughshod over everything that's gone before. If you want to be the commander of this expedition then you've got to _earn_ the respect, not expect it just because of your position."

"Are you done?" Woolsey asked her. She threw up her hands and turned to leave the room, eager to get away from the annoying little weasel she saw in him.

"Doctor Keller?" his voice halted her steps in the doorway, and she turned to face him.

"What?"

"How long?"

"Hmm?" she frowned, momentarily confused.

"How long before the transformation is complete?" he asked, nodding toward Major Lorne.

She shook her head, "I don't know. It could be a matter of days, it could be longer. Why?"

"I think," he started and nodding toward the two soldiers said, "for the sake of safety, I'd like to post those guards on the isolation room – if that's all right with you."

"He's unconscious, Mister Woolsey," she said with another sigh.

"For now, yes," he agreed, "but what happens when he wakes up?"

**

Smoke curled skyward from another of the ruined buildings and the sound of weeping interrupted the nightly singing of the insects that lived among the trees and bushes of the village. For the third night since the disappearance of the murderess, Lisstha, the Haradia had come with their weapons and with fire to destroy the buildings and force the villagers to flee the solid protection they afforded.

Remnants of families wandered aimlessly among the ruins, searching for possessions or for family members they feared taken by the Haradian men that had come in force to take their youth and the promise of their future.

"Damn her!" one of the village husbands, clinging tightly to what was left of his family, spat into the dirt where those who had so far survived injury gathered to discuss what they might do in their defence. "She brought this on us."

"And she is gone," one of the remaining elders shook his head, "it serves us little cursing her existence. We must decide what we should do now. We have tried fighting the Haradians, and we have tried offering them no resistance. The outcome is the same. It seems they wish to reduce us to ruin."

"And then what?" one of the women sobbed. "The menfolk all hurt, the young men and women taken... what will become of us?"

"I do not think we have a choice," Ynek spoke up, holding his infant daughter close, "We must take a chance on what Miran said, and use the mystical box to send for help against the Haradians."

"Miran is dead," the elder pointed out to him, "And the secret of which of the symbols would summon this help is gone from us."

"Not so," Ynek admitted quietly. "Before he came to you all with the news of his visitation, he came to me and told me of it. I tried to dissuade him from speaking, but he was unswayed – and it has cost him his life. As his friend, I must honour his memory, and if his mad visions can bring us even a little hope against our destruction, I say we follow his advice… and do as he urged us.

"But what if—"

"The time for 'what if' has passed, Elder Gramm," he said respectfully. "I believe it is the only way."

"And you will do this?" The elder asked, nodding slightly. "It will be a risk. To do so you must travel toward the Haradians."

"I know." He sighed, and handed his child to one of the others, before taking from his pouch the small box that had once belonged to Miran. "But I believe we have no choice."

"Then go with our blessing, Ynek, in this desperate hour… and let us hope that Miran's angel was just that… and not some demon to lead us astray."

"What can be worse than that which we now suffer?" Ynek asked softly, before he turned and made his way out into the darkness, toward where the Ring of the Ancestors stood.

**

Halling looked up from sharpening his weapon as the flap that made the doorway of his hastily constructed home rustled and then lifted aside. Jinto entered, looking behind him as though he was suddenly afraid of the night.

"I did it, father," he said. "Marida's mother said that she will pass the word. The men and fighting women will gather at the central fire as soon as the homes are completed."

"Thank you, Jinto. You are a good son to me."

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"May I go with you?"

Halling shook his head, "You are among the few I would trust to stay and defend the village, my son. I cannot allow you to come."

"You do not think me capable—" Jinto began to argue.

"On the contrary," Halling said quietly, smiling at his son proudly, "if there were no need to protect those we leave behind, I would gladly have you at my side, and Teyla also would be happy to have been delivered by Jinto, son of Halling, but there are those too young to travel with us, and some with child – and we are so few in number that we must protect them all. So I will call upon you to stay and guard them."

Jinto sighed, and threw himself into his seat beside the fire. "I suppose," he said, sulkily. "Perhaps we should have stayed with Colonel Sheppard. Then I could have fought at your side."

"No, my son," Halling reached over and ruffled his hair, "it is time for the Athosian people to decide their own destiny and not to blindly follow those that walk in the place of the Ancestors without their wisdom."

"When will you leave?" Jinto asked, leaning against his father a little. "And where will you go to begin the search for her? How will you find where Michael has her captive?"

"Tonight, I do not know," Halling answered, "but in the morning, I will trust what comes to me as I sleep. It is what Teyla would do."

Jinto nodded, and then added, "And I will keep the village safe for when you all return."

"I know you will, my son," Halling cupped his son's face between the palms of his hands, and lowered his forehead to Jinto's. "I know."

**

Sheppard leaned against the desk, arms folded, listening again to the message that had come into Atlantis from the relay station.

"…and we need your help. They come nightly… destroy our homes, take our children, our youths… please… if you can hear us… we need your help."

"It has to be some kind of trap," McKay said, frowning deeply, "I mean… how would they know – M3X-667 – we've never had any contact with them, not even the Athosians as far as I recall."

"That _is_ the relay station we told Todd to use to contact us." Ronon nodded agreement with McKay.

"For all we know they could be a bunch of Wraith worshippers just waiting to sell us out to the highest bidder, and by that I mean…" McKay made a sucking motion with his hand slightly outstretched.

Sheppard shook his head, "I can't explain it," he said, "But something about this feels… genuine…"

"Why?" Woolsey asked, clearly still angry from everything he'd discovered, "I have to admit I rather agree with Doctor McKay, as strange as that might sound."

"Thanks," McKay said sarcastically.

"Because…" Sheppard began, not even sure of what he was about to say. "… I mean… if they'd have said it was the Wraith that were attacking, sure, I would agree too, but they don't. They're under attack by another bunch of people, what do they call them?"

"Haradians," McKay supplied the answer and then looked over toward Ronon. "Anything?"

Ronon shook his head, "No one I've ever heard of," he said.

"Look," Sheppard cut the air with the side of his hand. "Who they are, and what their agenda, is irrelevant. They know we're here and they've asked for our help. So we should—"

"I disagree," Woolsey said.

"There's a surprise," Sheppard said sarcastically. He turned to Woolsey. "We have a certain responsibility to the people of this galaxy and—"

"While we're standing around here arguing about it," McKay cut in, sighing, "nothing is getting done, either here or elsewhere. There has to be some way we can find out more without committing ourselves too deeply."

"What do you suggest, Doctor?" Woolsey asked.

"What if we send in a small reconnaissance team, while we," he indicated himself, Ronon and Sheppard, "contact some of the people we know to see if they can tell us more about the Haradians."

Sheppard pointed at Rodney, nodding. "I can go with that," he raised an eyebrow at Woolsey in question.

Woolsey sighed. "Very well, but I want to note for the record that I'm not entirely happy about it."

"Noted," Sheppard said, sarcastically, "and for what it's worth—"

"It's worth very little, Colonel Sheppard," Woolsey said before he could even finish the sentence, "Nothing that anyone has said today has changed my opinion in the slightest on what our priorities here should be. I'll be in my quarters when you find something."

Sheppard sighed as he watched the man leave. "God!" he exploded once Woolsey was out of sight.

"Well you _have_ undermined his authority in just about everything today," McKay said with a shrug. "How do you expect him to behave?"

"You think this has something to do with Michael, don't you?" Ronon asked, preventing Sheppard from answering that he expected Woolsey to pass the stick that was currently up his ass and start behaving like someone who could command the Atlantis expedition sensibly.

"I can't explain it," Sheppard answered. "But there's something about this whole thing—"

"Or maybe you're seeing what you want to see," McKay said, with a tone of regret. "Much as I hate to say this, we have to consider the possibility that we might never catch up to Michael, and find Teyla."

"No," Sheppard said vehemently. "I refuse to accept that." Without another word, he slapped Ronon's arm and indicated the gate room with his head.

**

The commander of Bravo team straightened from his firing position as the last of the aggressors fled from the village.

"Bravo team, stand down," he ordered and watched as the rest of his men lowered their P90s and looked around them.

Slowly… timidly, from within the remains of the houses came movement as the villagers began to show themselves.

"Ynek," the commander called softly, "We're looking for Ynek. You called for us…"

One of the shadows moved and resolved itself into a grizzled looking man who had obviously seen battle in recent days. His shoulder was bandaged, and an open wound on the side of his chin was reddening with the promise of infection.

"I am Ynek," he said. "You are those who came from beyond the Ancestors' Ring?"

"We heard your call for help, yes. I'm Captain Warsh. The leaders of my expedition sent me here to find more information, so that we can assess how best to help you."

"Well, you have seen first hand what we face, as I described with the mystic box," Ynek said. "Those men come nightly to drive us from what little protection our shelters afford us; to punish us for not sending to them the one chosen by the Hag."

"I think maybe you'd better start at the beginning," Warsh said quietly. "You were supposed to send someone to them? Who _are_ these people?"

**

"I'm not asking for more than two or three men at most," Sheppard tried very hard not to raise his voice as Woolsey once again denied his request.

"The Athosians chose to leave Atlantis, Colonel Sheppard," Woolsey repeated with a complacency that gnawed at Sheppard's guts. "No one said they had to leave. Halling made it perfectly clear that he didn't _want_ our alliance to continue. I can't justify sending soldiers, who could be construed as an invading force, into what is now Athosian territory."

"The settlement is unprotected," Sheppard ran a hand through his hair and spun around to face the base commander. He was certain he was being deliberately difficult in order to make a point, only he couldn't figure out just what that point might be.

"You said that Halling's son, and some of his companions remained behind to defend the settlement."

"He's a _child_," Sheppard moaned, through clenched teeth.

"My understanding is that Jinto is more than capable," Woolsey countered, and went on to add, "besides which, as I have already pointed out, our priorities now must lie with the defence of this base from the very real threats that exist in this galaxy."

"Threats that aren't going to leave the Athosians alone just because they try to distance themselves from your prejudice and the prejudice of men like you!"

"There's no need to get personal, Colonel," Woolsey said, "I'm certain that Jinto knows how to contact us, should the need arise."

"Should the need arise, it will already be too la—"

The Gate activation alarm cut Sheppard off mid-word and after another moment or two of treating Woolsey to a look that would have withered many a man in his tracks, but failed entirely to even penetrate the shield of ignorance surrounding the new base commander, followed the other man from the briefing room to the control room, where the gate technician was already checking for the presence of an IDC.

"It's Captain Warsh's team," he announced.

"Lower the shield," Woolsey commanded. "Let's see what the Captain managed to discover about our mysterious cry for help."

Woolsey treated Sheppard to a look of smug sarcasm before he turned to look out over the balcony and down into the Gate Room. As he did so, the self satisfied look faded from his face, to be replaced by a shocked expression of disbelief. The four man team of marines stepped from the event horizon, and then turned to usher the first of a ragged and somewhat dirty group of refugees, mainly older men and women, into the rapidly filling Gate Room.

"This is kind of familiar," Sheppard said almost cheerily as he watched the newcomers looking around them, awe and more than a little fear showing on their faces.

"What… what is the meaning of this?" Woolsey demanded as he stepped closer to the railing to address Captain Warsh.

"That wasn't very diplomatic," Sheppard said, heading for the stairs down to the floor, merely a step or two ahead of Woolsey.

"Captain Warsh?" Woolsey persisted in trying to get a report from the commander of Bravo team.

"Mister Woolsey," Warsh said urgently, "Colonel… I know this isn't exactly protocol, but I didn't feel I had any choice."

"Go on?" Sheppard prompted, feeling more than a little satisfied with the way this had begun to play out.

Warsh nodded, and to both men, ushering one of the refugees to come forward, said, "This is Ynek. I really think you need to hear what he has to say."


	3. Act 3

**Act 3**

"For how long?" Woolsey asked after he had listened, Sheppard thought, very patiently, to Ynek's explanation of what had happened to his people and the reasons for it. Ynek looked at him as though he had grown a pair of rabbit ears and buck teeth. Speaking more slowly, as if to a child, Woolsey repeated his question. "How long have these visits been going on for? When did they begin?"

"I understood the question, Mister Woolsey," Ynek answered, his tone leaving no doubt in Sheppard's mind that he took exception to be spoken down to. "And yet it makes little sense. There is no 'how long,' it simply is. It began before my distant ancestors were children, and without your help it will continue long after my descendents have joined with them in the beyond."

"So what you're saying is that the Haradians have always made these visitations to your village and chosen from among your young people one who will go with them… on a regular basis?"

"Yes," Ynek said, glancing at Sheppard. John thought he saw a puzzled hint of concern in the man's eyes, as if he doubted, suddenly, how anyone led by such a simple-minded individual, as Woolsey appeared to be, could possibly help them.

"Don't mind him," he said, though he didn't know why he bothered trying to defend the base commander, "he's just making sure that he's dotted his I's and crossed his T's."

"He too has superiors to answer to?" Ynek asked astutely.

"You better believe it," Sheppard said, relishing the chance to openly complain about Stargate Command and the IOA, "and those guys make Dickie here look positively genius."

Woolsey frowned deeply at him as he cleared his throat. "Yes, well my superiors aside, tell me, what is it you want us to do for you?"

"A man from my village recently received a visitation from a being he called an angel, who spoke to him and told him of those who would come from beyond the Ancestors' Ring to help us win our freedom from subjugation at the hands of the Haradians." Ynek began. "Shortly after telling of the visitation, and insisting on the need to send for help against our oppressors, he was murdered. Those in the village believe that it was Lisstha that killed him."

"But you don't," John put in, for clarification, and when Ynek shook his head he asked, "Why not?"

"Because Lisstha was Miran's lover. Two more faithful and devoted people you would never meet." Ynek answered.

"So you suspect someone else – one of the Haradians perhaps – ensuring that you would give over the woman." Woolsey said.

"Lisstha has disappeared." Ynek said and shook his head.

"Doesn't that rather _support_ her involvement in his death?" Woolsey asked, "Fleeing the scene of the crime?"

"You think it's this 'angel' of Miran's, don't you?" Ronon asked, peeling himself from the doorway, where he had been keeping watch over the milling throng of refugees in the Gate Room below.

"That is my fear," Ynek confirmed, "though I believe him to be no angel."

"What do you mean?" Sheppard asked, glancing between Ronon and Ynek.

"Before he spoke with the elders of our settlement, Miran approached me and told me of the visitation, and what the one that came to him said."

"And what was that?" Woolsey asked.

"Miran was told that the Haradians take our women and our young people to bring them into servitude with others who use them until they are no longer wanted or needed, and who then execute them with impunity, in a most foul and horrifying way. The visitor said that they are sacrifices, not to the Haradian Hag, as we have long believed, but to these others who also use our settlement as a testing ground… quarantine."

"Just hold on a minute," Woolsey said, "What do you mean, quarantine?"

"I did not understand either. I merely repeat the words that Miran told to me," Ynek said. "And now, because Lisstha did not go to the Haradians, they have come to our village, destroyed our homes, and taken many, _many_ of our people – our young people – on whom the future of our settlement depends."

"And you want us to do what?" Woolsey asked.

"We want your help to get them back." Ynek said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

**

As soon as he was out of sight of the road, Halling slipped from the cobbles into the shadow of a copse of trees and then deeper into the undergrowth. Crouching low, he pulled aside a hanging branch and slipped into a woven shelter, where the rest of his warriors lay concealed.

"We were right to come here," he said quietly, his tone low and serious.

"There is news?"

Halling nodded, "Several days ago a group of strangers came to the village. And several of the townsfolk disappeared in the night that followed. The strangers said they would return for their needed supplies." Halling held up his hand to discourage interruption, "Unlike them, I know, to announce their presence so openly, but… it is a start; a place to begin."

One of the other men came forward, "So we will remain and await their return."

"Indeed," Halling said earnestly, "and when they do, we must move quickly. If they are who we believe, and we are to use them to lead us to where we might find Teyla, we cannot afford to make mistakes."

"We will be ready," the others agreed as Halling settled down to try and get some rest. He knew it would be the better part of a day before the others returned and that resting was important, but he was disturbed by one of the other things that he had heard, and had not shared with his fellow Athosians.

_He managed to slip in unnoticed behind a couple of the local men, but when he sat himself at the corner of the bar, the innkeeper at least had taken note of him and after only a moment set down a tankard in front of him and held out an all but overflowing jug of ale in query._

_Halling nodded, and slipped what he thought passed as coin on this world onto the wooden top of the bar._

_"You are new here, friend," the innkeeper said quietly as he poured the frothing, brown liquid into the tankard._

_"A trader, passing through on my way home," Halling lied._

_"And from the look of it, successful," the proprietor looked at the coin he now held in his hand._

_"It is hard not to be," he lamented, perhaps a little exaggerated, "When one's trade is medicine and so much sickness on so many worlds."_

_The innkeeper had frowned then, "Sickness?" he asked, "not on any worlds in these parts, my friend… not in many a year."_

_Then it was Halling's turn to frown, "Then you are most fortunate," he said. "There is an illness spread among the worlds of this galaxy that is killing all in its path. It is not proud; takes young and old alike. It cares not for its victims."_

_"Aye, I've heard of it," the innkeeper says. "But we are kept from it and it from us by the keepers on our outlying worlds."_

_"Keepers? You mean the Wraith?"_

_The man's face darkened, "They care not for the _how_ of its prevention. They come as they have always come. No… the keepers I speak of are men. Men who, on the worlds nearby, keep care of the Rings of the Ancestors so that they lead not to distant places where the plague is rife."_

_Halling raised his tankard then, to take a sip of the warm ale; to allay suspicion of his motives. "Then you are fortunate indeed," he said._

_"We were." the innkeeper corrected him. It was then the man told him of the arrival of strangers, making demands of the settlement. Halling felt elation rising in him to have so quickly found a trail that might lead him to find a way to Teyla, but at the same time his heart and stomach sank to think that Michael was still taking others for his experiments; was widening his network still further._

_"But if they came, and now with you here, it means the keepers are not safeguarding us any longer," the man said, interrupting his thoughts, "and that means that we must fear that the sickness might, as well, find its way here."_

It was the fact of men that were guarding the stargates that bothered Halling. In his time on Atlantis he had come to understand only a little of how the stargates worked, but it was his understanding that if one knew the symbols to press to dial any world in the galaxy, then the stargates would simply form a bridge between the two worlds. Preventing a series of gates from being a part of that network, he was certain, required far more knowledge than the average local civilisation would possess.

Whether it was of Human, Wraith or even of Michael's design to keep these worlds isolated, was a question that Halling was not sure he wanted answering.

**

"The answer is still no," Woolsey said firmly. "I didn't hear a single thing in that man's story that has changed the situation."

"But aren't you even a little bit curious about who's behind all this?" Sheppard asked, leaning forward to address the whole of the assembled senior staff.

"Frankly, no," Woolsey snapped. "Priorities, Colonel Sheppard."

"Responsibility, Mister Woolsey," he snapped back. "These people came to us for help. We can't just turn them away?"

"You don't actually believe we _can_ help these people?" Rodney chipped in, most ungenerously, Sheppard thought. He fixed Sheppard with an astonished expression.

"Why not?" Sheppard asked, spreading his hands in invitation for anyone to give him a good reason why they couldn't just gate to the planet, find these bullies and convince them to leave Ynek's good people alone. Of course, frustration at sitting on his hands while Teyla was out there somewhere, needing them to find her did not help his desire to beat something to a bloody pulp.

"Because, Colonel Sheppard, in spite of being asked to help by these people, this matter really is none of our concern," Woolsey told him with mock patience.

"You're wrong."

About to argue, Sheppard closed his mouth again as Ronon spoke. The big Satedan did not back down when all eyes, including Woolsey's, turned his way, expecting further explanation.

"Ynek described this woman that came to choose the sacrifice as being ancient," he said, "more than that, as being the same 'hag' that haunted the village in his grandmother's time."

"You're thinking Wraith Worshipper, aren't you?" McKay asked, as if suddenly becoming more interested in the possibility to help these people.

"How else could she be so old and still be alive?" Ronon turned the question back on McKay.

"But I thought," Woolsey interjected, "that if one received the 'gift of life' from a Wraith, it would preserve your youth as well. In which case, surely she'd come to these people as a young woman, not a hag."

"Preserves your youth, yes," Ronon answered, "but I don't think there's a person alive who could tell you the effects of prolonged exposure, because sooner or later, even the most devout Wraith Worshipper manages to piss off their masters and then..." he didn't finish the sentence, he didn't need to.

Rodney paled. "So you're suggesting that this woman has been a Wraith Worshipper for so long that even their 'gift of life' can't keep her looking young, only keep her alive."

Ronon shrugged, as if to say, 'why not?'

"Well that's all very interesting, but I still don't see how that makes it our business," Woolsey said.

"Because it represents a deviation from what we know of the Wraith and their tactics, and if you expect to defend this base from their attacks you need to make it a priority to investigate any and all Intel concerning such deviations by the Wraith in order to inform any future defensive strategies," Rodney rattled off quickly and offhandedly, before turning to Ronon and asking, "He said the arrival of the Hag is always preceded by the appearance of a red star in the sky and a flash of lightning. Cruiser, do you think? Dart?"

"And then there the matter of this 'angel' Ynek said appeared to Miran," Sheppard added.

McKay nodded, "And the description he said that Miran gave to him, you'll agree I think when I say it sounded very like the description of one of Michael's hybrids, maybe even Michael himself for all we know."

"Before you get ahead of yourself, Doctor McKay," Woolsey interrupted, "There's still the question of what we are going to do with all those refugees from M3X-667."

"That's the other thing that makes it our business," Sheppard answered with a wry smile. "If you expect to get those people off the base, then we have to go make their home a safe place for them to be. Rodney can't be expected to find an uninhabited world for every race of people you happen to—"

He didn't get the satisfaction of finishing the sentence that he'd meant as a reminder to Woolsey of his destruction of their alliance with the Athosians. A security alarm began to sound all through the city, and after only a moment one of the technicians from the control room raced into the conference room.

"It's the infirmary," he said breathlessly.

**

Ronon pulled his gun as he raced ahead of the others into the infirmary, almost toppling a gurney as he made his way to the isolation room. Behind him, Sheppard swore and dodged aside as the bed wheeled into his path.

The two men came to a halt just inside the room and Sheppard almost had to turn aside. It was only Keller's shouted instruction that grabbed a hold of his senses and kicked him into business mode.

"Get those men out of here!" she yelled, struggling to hold the thrashing Lorne to the bed and at the same time point to the soldiers that Woolsey had left in guardianship of her patient.

"You heard the lady," Sheppard said as he turned menacingly toward them. Ronon in the meantime slipped past him to help restrain the stricken Major.

"What's going on?" Woolsey asked as he arrived and pushed his way past the exiting marines.

"And get him out of here too," Keller began.

"I'm staying," he said firmly. "What happened?"

For several minutes, Keller couldn't answer as Major Lorne cried out again with the pain of his ongoing transformation, arching his back and lifting himself off the bed in spite of Ronon's restraining grasp. Finally the wave of agony appeared to pass, and he fell, limply back to the bed, allowing Jennifer a moment to catch her breath.

"About an hour ago," she told them, "I noticed that the rate of transformation was no longer being held back by either the NTRI drugs alone, or the cocktail of those drugs and Doctor Becket's original retrovirus. I began to the wonder if the sedation I had him under was interfering with the actions of his own immune system, so I reduced the sedation. For a while he stabilised, only a little but even a little was a big step at that point, but then, in the last ten minutes he just went crazy… his pressure shot through the ceiling, he broke freed of the restraints, and started…" she gestured to the bed before finishing, "writhing in agony. One of your two men hit the panic button."

"And it seems like a good job that he did," Woolsey said with an audible frown. "I did warn you that it was not a good idea to keep Major Lorne here in this condition."

"Save the 'I told you so'," Ronon growled at him.

"I had it under control," Keller told them, "until his marines tried to interfere. Seems like he reacted to the presence of other soldiers."

"The question is, Doctor Keller," Woolsey asked falsely calm, "What are you going to do about it."

"What are _we_ going to do," she corrected him. "As much as you're not going to like what I have to say, there's very few options left available to us."

"What do you mean?" This time Sheppard asked the question that he knew was burning in everyone's thoughts.

"The only thing I can do for the Major is to sedate him again, but the minute I do that, the rate of transformation is going to pick up. I have done _everything_ I can think of to stop, or even slow this happening, but I'm out of ideas." She looked at Woolsey then. "If I'm going to help the Major at all, _I_ need help, and that means you're going to have to authorise Colonel Sheppard and the others to go after Michael. Because right now, I either need the serum so that I can wake Carson and get him to help me or I need Michael – regardless of how dangerous that will be."

For several long moments there was a terrible silence in the isolation room until another agonising wave came over Major Lorne, and he screamed again, contorting his body against the restraints that Ronon had refastened. His eyes snapped open, the irises pale against the white. Woolsey looked away and sighed.

"Very well," he said on the end of the sigh, adding to Sheppard a moment later, "Assemble your team, and meet me in the gate room in fifteen minutes."

**

The ten silent, still figures flanked the cobbled road that led between the settlement and the stargate. Halling waited in the lea of a massive tree that stood beside the road. He had argued endlessly with his companions on the best course of action – whether to simply attack the entire group of soldiers as they came past, or to wait in silent ambush for the last man, and pick him off alone, interrogate him and find the next step along their path.

Each option had its merits and its dangers. Taking out the entire group, if they truly were hybrid soldiers, or even just Michael's agents would alert him to the problem and make him more than cautious, expecting attack. Isolating and capturing the last of the soldiers to pass would mean that if they could not get him to reveal what information he knew they would be no nearer to discovering where Teyla was potentially being held. There was no single or easy answer, but in the end the question answered itself.

"We must hurry," one of the leading soldiers turned to the others. "Already we are behind schedule. If we are caught here when their culling begins, and are trapped among the villagers, he will not be pleased."

"You have the modified crystal?" a soldier in the rear of the party asked.

The first soldier shook his head. "The crystal is already installed in the dialling device. I was instructed to keep it there, in case we needed to make a quick escape," he said. "You remember the address for the rendezvous?"

"He would not allow me to forget."

Halling sighed, it was to be all or nothing then, and they would have to make their attack _after_ these soldiers had dialled the gate. Silently he signalled to the others to let them pass, and to follow as only the Athosians knew how; silent as a creeping fog on a still evening.

**

"Rodney?" Sheppard looked up at the control room in consternation as the gate powered down for the third time in a row.

"It's no good, I can't get a lock," McKay called down.

Exasperated, Sheppard took the stairs almost two at a time, leading the rest of the team, with Woolsey trailing behind, up into the control room.

"What do you mean, you can't get a lock?" he asked. "Bravo team _came_ from that address."

"Just that," McKay said, looking more than a little flustered. "The gate dials all the symbols, the first six symbols lock, but the second the 'Point of Origin' registers, the gate just… shuts down."

"Could it be a problem with the dialling device… the city's computers?" Woolsey asked, concerned.

"It's possible, I suppose," McKay answered, "but Zelenka and I only just ran a full diagnostic on all the city's systems, and everything was fine."

"Is there any way to test it?" Sheppard asked, trying to stay patient.

"Without running another diagnostic?" McKay asked, and when Sheppard nodded he said, "The only way to do that is to try dialling another gate."

Sheppard raised his eyebrows, and then when McKay didn't move, he gestured toward the dialling computer.

"Oh… right… yeah," McKay thought for a moment and then pressed a sequence of symbols on the dialling computer. Everyone turned their attention to the gate room, where, as it should, the gate dialled through to the requested address and a stable wormhole formed. McKay frowned, and walking toward the balcony claimed, "You know… that's truly bizarre."

"Rodney…" Sheppard began in warning tones, not wanting McKay to laps into a totally irrelevant line of thought.

"No, no, no," McKay said, "hear me out. The reason Zelenka and I did the diagnostic in the first place was because we encountered this same issue when I was trying to find a suitable place for the Athosians to settle."

"But that was nowhere near to Ynek's homeworld," Ronon put in, then asked, "was it?"

"No, it wasn't," McKay moved back into the control room and called up the display of system to which they were having trouble establishing a wormhole. "Originally, though, we were looking in this part of the galaxy because it seemed to be reasonably uninhabited, and we'd had very little reports of Wraith activity from around there."

He took up a light-pen and drew a circle around first one, and then another of the worlds and then, with the pen, pointed to the first of them.

"This is the place to which we were originally going to send Halling and the others," he said, and then pointed to the place they were currently trying to dial. "And this is Ynek's home, M3X-667. I wonder…"

Without even asking for permission, he plucked a tablet out of the hands of a nearby technician and began to access one of the city's systems by remote network, and then returned to the dialling computer, disengaged the current wormhole, and began to input another set of symbols.

"Rodney, what are you doing?" Sheppard asked, growing more concerned by the moment at the time this was all taking; time that neither Teyla, nor Major Lorne had.

"Trying out a theory," McKay answered.

"Forget the theory," Sheppard snapped, "just… find the nearest gate address we know we can dial to, and get us a wormhole. We can go the rest of the way by Jumper."

"But—" McKay started to protest.

"Just for once, Doctor," Woolsey said, "I have to agree with Colonel Sheppard. While this anomaly is troubling, it can be investigated once the Colonel is underway with his team."

"Find me that address, Rodney," Sheppard called out, already heading for the stairs to the Jumper bay.

**

Even though the Athosians outnumbered the soldiers more than two to one, Halling found that he and his warriors were hard pressed against them. He had waited until the last moment he dared, after the soldiers had dialled the gate address, to call for the attack before any of them could pass through the shining blue puddle. He watched carefully as the leading soldier had removed the extra crystal from inside the device while the gate was still active, and tucked it inside his shirt. Only then did he roar out his command for them to attack.

The soldiers were fast and strong. He knew they would be, enhanced as they were by the genetic changes forced on them by Michael, and wanting to take them alive made the battle harder still.

He fought with fist and staff until his muscles burned and his lungs cried out for air at the repeated blows rained upon his chest by the soldier he fought. The ground around them became splattered with blood and littered with fallen weapons as each side sought the upper hand and in doing so disarmed his opponent. The air was filled with the sound of flesh on flesh, and the occasional snap of bone, and yet still they fought on.

Halling took a sharp blow to the temple and stumbled, falling to his knees with his rival over him, poised for a killing blow. He whispered a prayer to the Ancestors, and held himself still until the last second, when the feet of his opponent shifted in the dirt, and then he launched himself from his knees toward the man. Surprise was on his side, and his shoulder connected hard with the man's thigh, unbalancing him, toppling him over and bringing his head to connect with the side of the dialling device. The soldier fell, stunned if not unconscious, to the ground and Halling scrabbled in the dirt to find the man's fallen weapon. Coming to his knees fired the Wraith stunner time and time again, until all the others lay fallen too.

"Secure them," he ordered breathlessly, "and see to our wounded. There is much I would learn from these four."

"We will tell you nothing." The soldier he had fought with was quickly recovering from his fall. He moaned the words as he began to drag himself to his knees.

Uncharacteristically angry, Halling turned and kicked out at the man until he fell again to the ground. Then he grabbed the man's hair and pulled back his head and, pressing the weapon into the man's neck, he growled, "You _will_ tell me what I want to know."

**

"Talk to me, Rodney," Sheppard said, as he carefully manoeuvred the cloaked Jumper through the rock strewn canyon toward the co-ordinates he'd been given for the energy readings that did not at all match the agricultural nature of the planet's evolutionary level.

"I'll remind you," McKay snapped from the co-pilot's seat. "I was not going to come on this mission at all. I was press ganged into it!"

"And now you're here," Sheppard reminded him, "And as much in danger as the rest of us if anything happens and they detect our Jumper, so… talk to me."

"Um… you shouldn't go much further. I should start looking for a place to set down, and then we'll have to go the rest of the way on foot," he paused and then complained, "again."

"That's all I wanted to know," Sheppard said, and nodded.

"Why Zelenka couldn't come along I'll never know, I mean, it was my idea to investigate the problem with the gates around this system."

"Relax," Ronon said, mild amusement in his voice, "I'm sure Doctor Zelenka won't discover anything you couldn't have."

"Ha, ha, yes. Very funny," McKay retorted.

"Would you two knock it off," Sheppard admonished both of them as he set the Puddle Jumper down behind a small copse of trees. Turning to Ynek he asked, "All right, which way?"

"The Ancestors' Ring is just beyond the next rise, and beyond that, on the other side of the river, by the foot of the mountains is the city of the Haradians."

"Sounds like quite a hike," Ronon said.

"It is not so far as you might think," Ynek said, shaking his head, "it is only fear that makes the journey longer."

"Well then I guess we'd best get started," Sheppard said, getting out of his seat and beginning to strap on the gear and weapons he might need. "McKay…"

"You sure you… don't want someone to stay behind and guard the Jumper," McKay asked.

"For that one I think it will be a long journey indeed," Ynek said with a grin.

McKay gave him a sour look, and then he too began to gather the weapons, and other equipment that he would need.

**

Lisstha twisted her hands again her bonds, and pulled at the tether that held her staked to the ground like some common animal. Her arms were sore from being pulled behind her for so long, and her head ached from the constant fear, that came in waves, sometimes threatening almost to stifle her. She looked across the narrow cave in which she was held to the figure that stood, motionless still, on the narrow ledge overlooking the surrounding area.

He kept to the shadows at the entrance, his back upright and straight, a tension there, a strength she knew, first hand now after she had tried to free herself from his grasp. It was then he'd tied her hands and something in her sensed that this was not always his way; that there was something in him that was tired.

Even tired he was alert. He must have sensed her watching him, for he turned from his the watch he was keeping over their surroundings, his head tilted just a little.

"Why are you doing this?" she finally asked him.

For a moment she thought, like all her other questions, he would refuse to answer, but then he took a step in her direction, speaking quietly, and almost, she thought, with regret. "There are times when matters that were once… unknown by many, must be brought into the light." Then he tipped his head back a little, as if coming suddenly awake, and in a tone more clipped and final than before said, "It is a necessary step to complete my work."

"Your work?"

"You wouldn't understand," he told her, and began to turn away again, to return to his watchfulness.

"I'm not stupid!" she told him, fear driving her to be angry. When he did not offer more, she demanded, "What do you want from me?"

"Absolutely nothing," he said without turning.

"Then free me," she pleaded.

He turned back to her then, his head tilted, and a frown of confusion barely visible through the shadows in which he stood. "Where would you go?" he asked. "You cannot return to your people. They consider you to be a traitor and if I released you to those who would take you to their masters, you would not survive. You are no longer useful to them." He regarded her for a moment after in silence, his eyes burning in a way that chilled to the core, before he said, "No. I have learned to value what resources I might gather."

"But you said—"

"I said I wanted nothing from you," he corrected her before she even finished the sentence, "but I may yet find a use _for_ you."

"Please…" she began to twist her hands once more in a bid for freedom at the coldness in his voice. "Let me—"

"Need I remind you of the value of silence?" he warned, and glared at her again until she became silent and still. It was only then that she noticed the sounds of other, coming nearer, and that in spite of this he did not seem alarmed in the slightest. He barely turned his head and asked, "Where are the others?"

"They returned as captives." Two men stepped from the narrow path that led to the cave, one of them answered as he came into the dim light. She could barely make out the disfigurements that marred his cheeks, and those of his companion also, and the same, strange mottled, pale veined flesh.

"The Lanteans?" he asked, seeming to be undisturbed by the news.

"Athosian warriors," his subordinate answered, "some of those whom the Lanteans freed."

"Hmmm," he said, and for a moment she thought he almost sounded amused. "So they too have followed my little trail of breadcrumbs." Finally turning to his men, he became once more terse, his manner clipped and almost as if he were offended. "No matter," he said, "they may share the same fate as Colonel Sheppard and his team."

He tilted his head for a long moment, and seemed to be concentrating, or thinking deeply, before he straightened and said, "Come, there is no more time. We must set matters into motion, and then leave this place." Lisstha shivered as he jerked his head toward her and said, "Bring the girl," before he turned and went ahead of them down the narrow path.

**

Rodney McKay made a sour face as his foot squelched into the mud at the bottom of the trench in which they sheltered from sight. Raising his head slightly he peered into the distance, and then took his turn with the binoculars as Ronon passed them his way.

There were figures in the field ahead, many of them, men and women alike. Each was similarly dressed in what looked to be home spun cloth, and thought the style was not as rustic as the surroundings would suggest – to all intents and purposes it seemed to Rodney that they had stumbled on a simple farming community – they were simple and functional; tight fitting pants and a sleeveless tunic that was belted at the waist. They were working together to build some kind of structure.

He pressed the control on the side of the binoculars to zoom in still further on one of the men. He was of average height and build. His dark brown hair, though long was gathered tidily in a thong that held it away from his face, to fall in a single tail down his back. His facial features appeared to be what Rodney would consider normal for a human male who quite obviously, from the individual's build, spent much of his time working out of doors. There were no blemishes, no facial grooves that should not be there, and the tone of his skin looked healthy. In fact, he looked in appearance very similar to Ynek himself.

"I thought you said the Haradians were soldiers," he hissed to Ynek.

"They are. Many of them," Ynek answered, "those you see here are the workers. They build and farm to strengthen the Haradian community. "The soldiers dwell within the taller buildings in the centre of the town."

"Great," McKay snapped, adding sarcastically, "So what you're telling me is that we've gotten ourselves into the middle of a local war. Way to go, us!" He began to lower the binoculars, ready to relinquish them into Sheppard's hands, when something about the man caught his eyes. "Wait, wait," he said, and tugged against Sheppard's grip on the equipment. "I think I saw something; some kind of… of marking on his neck."

"It's called a tattoo, Rodney," Sheppard answered lazily, snatching the binoculars out of his hands, "and having one doesn't mark you out as some kind of heinous villain."

Ronon leaned over and grinned at Rodney before turning to Sheppard and asking, "What's the plan?"

"Well," Sheppard said, surveying the distant settlement with the binoculars again, "I don't see any sign of anything out of order. Nor do I see any of Ynek's people." Rodney wondered to himself how Sheppard could tell the difference, but held his tongue. "So I guess we just… go on out there. Make contact and try and settle this through diplomatic channels. They look reasonable enough, and they don't appear to be carrying any serious kind of weapons."

"It is the soldiers have the weapons," Ynek said.

"Well, we'll try to avoid _them_ for the time being." Sheppard answered, "See if we can't get these people here to bring us to the leader. Hopefully get your people back, and then we can be on our way."

Rodney didn't miss the almost disappointed sigh that escaped Sheppard, and wondered if it was because this matter _could_ be settled without 'kicking someone's ass' or if it was because Sheppard had hoped to find a lead here – something that would bring them to Teyla.

He sighed himself. He could almost hear Woolsey's 'I told you so.'

"Come on," Sheppard slapped the top of his shoulder, and then started out of the ditch, leaving Rodney to extricate himself from the mud and follow. He made another face as he did so, trying to shake the water and the oozing mud from his boot.

They walked openly toward the Haradians, keeping Ynek behind them for the moment. Their weapons slung across their chests and holstered, appearing casual. As they neared the team of builders, one of the Haradian men turned and shielding his eyes again the sun, came toward them.

"Greetings," the man said, "you are… far from home."

"Hi," Sheppard answered, halting a few feet away from the man. By now the others had stopped working and were looking at them with guarded curiosity. "We're not staying long, just… like to see your elders, ruling council, whatever… clear up a little misunderstanding and then we'll be on our way."

"Misunderstanding," the man echoed in question, "ruling council?"

"Yeah, the people who lead your… settlement," Sheppard said.

Rodney peered at the man, trying to get a better look at the tattoo on the side of his neck, but the man's own shadow obscured that side of him in the late afternoon sun, and he was on the wrong side to see it clearly in any event.

When the man noticed he was looking, not wanting to appear rude, he looked away, to peer at the mountainside beyond the Haradian settlement. It was smoothly angled, vegetation growing sparsely on its screes and slopes; a deep, dark stone, like granite, very old – established.

"By all means," the Haradian said, nodding to Sheppard and then gestured with a hand to a small path that led past the fields where the building was taking place, into the heart of the town. "I would be happy to bring you before them."

"Thank you," Sheppard said, then gestured himself for the man to precede them. "After you."

Rodney followed, and whether out of paranoia or not, something about the way the people who remained behind to see to the building behaved, made even the hair on his toes stand on end.

**

Zelenka raised his glasses for a moment to rub the bridge of his nose before he resumed peering at the results streaming back at him as he tried to dial yet another of the gates in the near vicinity of M3X-667. He muttered to himself as he watched, growing bored and feeling he was getting nowhere.

"Chevron locked, chevron locked, chevron locked," he said of the last of the six symbols came alight in the middle ring of the gate, and then circled to find its place beneath the lighted chevron. "Sending Point of Origin… wait for th— wait, that's not right." Suddenly he was alert, and backing up the streaming data he peered again at the string of text that had flashed across his screen, almost too quickly for him to see. "That can't be right, it's not possible," he said to himself, and then once more started the dialling sequence.

His frown deepened as once again the same sequence of text flashed across his screen just before the gate deactivated. He brought the text back up on his screen and began to quickly decipher its meaning.

"Oh no," he said, his voice becoming a little more tremulous. He quickly turned to one of the technicians and said, "Get me the recorded data from Bravo team dialled in from M3X-667," he said, "and then find Mister Woolsey. We have a problem." To himself he muttered, "A big problem."

**

"Prisoners of war, Colonel Sheppard," D'nuos, leader of the Haradian Military told him, "taken because our neighbours broke with the accord set up by our ancestors long before this time. I assure you they are being humanely treated."

"But that's just it," Sheppard said, "it wasn't Ynek's people. We believe that there was some kind of… outside interference… someone else that came and took that girl before she could be brought to join you here."

"You sound very certain, Colonel." D'nuos said. Sheppard didn't like the tone in his voice, and once more looked the man over. He was looking for anything, besides the man's arrogant manner, which reminded him disturbingly of the Genii, that could account for the bad feeling that was growing in him by the moment.

As the others of his people he was simply dressed. Though not quite in uniform, the tight fitting pants were of a thick, deep blue, almost black woven fabric, and the tunic he wore was of the same dark colour. Unlike the others, over the tunic he wore a mid length jacket-like overcoat that hung, unfastened about him. The coat was long enough to conceal any weapons the man might be carrying, and perhaps, he decided, that was what was bothering him. The coat's collar was starched, and stood up about the man's neck. There was no insignia, no sign of rank. The entire outfit was simply one stark colour.

Sheppard glanced out of the corner of his eyes, to see Ronon standing tense and alert. The Satedan's hand rested within easy reach of his weapon. Something wasn't right, and he didn't like that they were so enclosed.

"As certain as I can be," he said, and shrugged a little, using the movement as an excuse to begin a slow walk around the room to which they had been shown. It was an octagonal room that was deep within the Military compound they'd entered to speak with D'nuos. Exits led from the room in most directions, with the external doors behind them. The building, as all of the others was stone clad wood. The room's wood lining was polished and dark, made of the local fauna, as he'd noticed the wood of many of the trees in the area was a deep brown in colour. He could detect no hidden chambers, no bolt holes from which hidden weapons could be discharged. Nothing that should give him cause to be assaulted by this feeling. "From everything I've heard," he added softly, turning back to face D'nuos.

The Haradian was looking at a small hand held device and listening to the whispered words of another of the soldiers, who stood just behind him. Sheppard had been so absorbed in his examination of the room that he had failed to hear the man enter.

"Indeed," D'nuos agreed, looking up from the device and giving him, and the others, a rather thin smile. "It seems you're right. There has been a rather large misunderstanding."

**

Lisstha bit her lip against the pain in her hand where her captor had sliced deeply into her palm and clung tightly to the wad of fabric he had then torn from the bottom of her shirt and pressed into her hand. They had been in a clearing among some trees, and by some magic of a device he held, he had called, out of nothing, a rounded metal box. It hadn't taken him long before he had opened a door in the rear of what turned out to be like some kind of carriage, and after dragging her inside, and cutting her bonds, had sliced into her hand with the knife he took from one of his men.

She stood a little away from him now, flanked by the two others of his men, watching as his hands began to move with assured confidence over the symbols on the small altar beside the Ancestors' Ring.

He had barely touched his fingers to three of the sacred symbols when the Ring beside them began to hum with power. She saw him frown, and then watched as he quickly stepped away and reached for the weapon at his side. His men did likewise, though neither released their hold on her.

There was a sudden whoosh of sound and the bright blue of sun on a waterfall flared in front of the Ancestors' Ring, before the brightness became a steady mirror-like surface stretched in the space within the circle. The three with her all pointed their weapons at that space, and stood tense… waiting.

Minutes passed, and nothing happened. Her captor tilted his head, and then turned slightly to look back in the direction from which they had come.

"Someone is attempting to communicate with Colonel Sheppard and his men," he said. Almost before he had finished voicing his realisation he took the two steps that brought him to her side, and snatched her arm from the grip of one of the others. "I cannot remain here any longer. When the wormhole deactivates, dial the fourth tertiary site, and from there our secondary facility. Remember to retrieve the crystal."

With his instructions given, he turned and began to walk quickly up towards a plateau, high in the nearby hill. Lisstha practically had to run to keep up with him.

**

_"Colonel Sheppard, this is Atlantis, please respond,"_ Zelenka's voice sounded clear as crystal in his ear.

"I hear you, Radek, what's up?" he asked, trying to sound casual in the face of the concern, no… fear he heard in the scientist's voice.

_"Colonel, there's no time to explain. You and the others are in danger. I found out what was blocking the gates and—"_

Booted footsteps sounded from all around Sheppard, and he stopped listening to what Zelenka was trying to say to him, making a sudden grab for his P90, and feeling his back come into contact with Ronon and Rodney's back. The almost comforting whine of Ronon's weapon charging sounded in his ear.

The comforting feeling faded quickly as he turned his head from side to side, allowing him to look around them.

"Oh crap!" he said softly.


	4. Act 4

**Act 4**

The triangle of men turned slowly, weapons raised, though in truth, Sheppard knew they would do none of them any good. Framed in each of the doorways, dwarfing the pairs of Haradian soldiers who had spilled, quite suddenly, into the room, stood the menacing bulk of masked Wraith warriors.

_"Colonel, you have to listen to me," _Radek's accented voice chattered quickly in his ear, _"I discovered that the reason the gates were disengaging when the PO signal was sent, was that a clearance code was being requested on an upstream data transfer. The signal is Wraith in origin, I repeat, the signal is—"_

"You probably aren't aware of the idiom that mentions stable doors and horses bolting," Sheppard answered lazily, keeping himself ready over his weapon.

_"Excuse me?"_

Sheppard opened his mouth to answer the scientist, but movement from the council room's main entrance had him wheel around quickly to bring himself to face that way. The two Wraith warriors guarding the entrance moved aside to allow a new trio to enter. Two further Wraith, obviously commanders of some sort, swept into view, and between them shuffled an elderly, wizened creature. As the figure came closer, Sheppard realised it was a woman, ancient, twisted and deformed. She stopped as she came almost within reach.

"I strongly suggest that you cease communication with your companions," she said. Her voice was like the scuttle of chitinous feet over dry paper. "It would also be wise to surrender your weapons to my escort." She gestured with her hands toward the two Wraith commanders at her side.

"I don't think so," Sheppard said, with a thin smile. "Thank you though… for the advice, I mean."

She let out a hissing chuckle. "So this is the famous Colonel John Sheppard of Atlantis."

"The one and only," he answered, then turned his head as she all but scuttled to the one side of him, where Ronon stood, still menacing the Wraith with his blaster.

"And this must be the runner, Ronon Dex," she tilted her head first one way and then the other, "Such a pity the excesses of one Commander would deny us such an… interesting specimen."

Ronon growled and took a step in her direction, to meet face to face with one of the commanders at her side. The two sneered at each other, menacing each other with weapon and the threat of feeding, as was in their nature. After a moment or two, the crone waved away the Wraith with a flick of her skeletal hand, continuing to circle around Sheppard and the others until she came to Rodney's side.

"And you must be…" she faltered, tilting her head first one way, and then the other, and frowning in confusion.

"Oh great," McKay began to complain. "Typical! Always the genius that gets forgotten… I'll have you know, I—"

"Not so," the Hag whispered, stepping closer to McKay. "We hold those with minds such as yours in high regard, Doctor McKay."

"On the other hand," McKay squeaked, backing up a little, "Sometimes there's nothing wrong with being anonymous."

The same sibilant chuckle issued from between her cracked paper lips until she came full circle to face Sheppard once more.

"Our sensors picked up your craft not long ago, and investigating we discovered that it is _you_ who have interfered in our arrangements." she whispered.

"Arrangements?" Sheppard frowned, quickly putting the pieces together. "If you mean having your worshippers here terrorising the neighbouring community then—"

"The blood of the girl was all over your ship!" one of the commanders interjected, falling silent again at a glance from the Hag.

"Our ship?" McKay frowned too, and then turned a little to half face Sheppard. "The Jumper? How the hell did they find the Jumper, it was cloaked?"

"I don't know," Sheppard answered him quickly from the side of his mouth, "And it hardly matters now." He turned his attention back to the old woman and almost without drawing breath said, "We had nothing to do with the girl."

"The evidence says otherwise," she countered. "And now you are discovered."

For just a moment she bowed her head, and closed her eyes, but when she opened them again, they were full of ancient fire and alive with fury, and the voice that issued from her lips was not her own.

"Bring them to me!"

**

It happened so quickly and they were not at all prepared. The first shot took Saudin in the back of the neck and he fell instantly, but his sacrifice allowed Halling to roll aside, and to take up his own weapon in readiness for the coming assault.

At first, they were at a disadvantage, the gathering gloom was punctuated with flashes of brightness as the aggressors came in, firing their weapons as they moved. The Athosian warriors, armed with their traditional weapons, had to duck and weave, seeking cover in the underbrush as they attempted to make their own push towards them. Halling knew though, that once the gap had been closed, the battle would be equal.

He barely managed to dodge aside as the ground beside him erupted in a cloud of mud and scorched vegetation. Cursing, he kicked at the end of a nearby fallen branch to send it spinning up into his hand, and barely pausing to take his aim, he launched it toward the direction from which the deadly shots were coming. For a moment they paused. The moment was all he needed.

He sprinted forward, launched himself after the wooden missile and connected solidly with his attacker, rolling a little to cushion himself against the impact. Before his attacker could recover, he closed his hand around the other man's wrist, preventing him from firing at close quarters, and then began to beat the hand that was holding the weapon against the ground. It became a low fight, and dirty. Halling grunted as his opponent flailed his free hand, made a fist of it, and punched him hard in the small of the back. He tried to shut out the sounds of the fight around him; to concentrate and focus on his own battle, but hearing the cries, and knowing that at least some of them came from his fellow Athosians, the task he set himself was a hard one. It was, however, one that he could not afford to fail.

From the corner of his eye he saw that his prisoners, Michael's hybrid soldiers, fared a little better in the fight, having somehow freed themselves in the confusion. They would take advantage of the situation, he knew, and they would leave, though he doubted their reception on their return would be a very warm one. _Let them go then, and good riddance, _he thought to himself, though a large part of him wished he could follow and allow them to lead him to where Michael held Teyla.

**

"What were those things?" Ynek huddled against the back wall of the cell into which they'd all been pushed, presumably while the Wraith arranged their transportation.

"You mean to tell me," growled Ronon, still attempting to work at opening the door, "you've never seen them before?"

"The Hag, yes," Ynek said. "It is she that comes to our village whenever it is time for the Choosing, but those others…" he shivered. "…such creatures I have never seen."

"Those, my friend, are Wraith." McKay informed him with mock cheerfulness. "A more dangerous group of people you'll never— actually scratch that. By now, Michael and his followers are probably equally if not more dangerous than the Wraith and—"

"The important thing for you to know," Sheppard broke in on McKay's ramblings, "Is that the Wraith are creatures that feed on the life force of people like you and me, and it looks like your 'friends,' the Haradians, are in point of fact Wraith Worshippers."

"Worshippers?" Ynek frowned as he turned toward Sheppard.

"Yeah," Sheppard said as he moved toward the door, to look out through the small wire-reinforced glass panel. "It means they do the bidding of the Wraith in order to avoid being fed on… and better than that, the Wraith are able to reverse the feeding process and _give_ life to their loyal followers."

Ynek shook his head. "I do not understand," he said.

"Never mind," said Ronon, irritably. Unable to open the door, he moved away from it to throw himself into the corner of the room. "Bottom line for you and your people is that the Haradians have been using you for all of these years in order to keep themselves from suffering at the hands of the Wraith."

"Just like Miran's visitor told to him," Ynek murmured in shocked surprise.

"About that," Sheppard started.

"I have already told you everything I know," Ynek said. "But everything he told to Miran has turned out to be the truth. The Hag, and the Haradians with her, do the bidding of these creatures, and so _must_ bring the ones they take from our village to them here. Our _entire_ lives have been lived under a lie, and for that lie and the revealing of it I have lost two of my closest friends!"

"Easy," Sheppard put a hand onto Ynek's shoulder. "Let's focus on trying to get out of here. Then we can think about getting even. Ronon?"

Sheppard nodded toward the door, tacitly asking for his opinion.

"There's no way we're getting through that door," Ronon answered. "It might look like a simple door, but there's some kind of magnetic locking mechanism, electronic or something."

"McKay?" Sheppard turned to the scientist.

"Do I look like MacGyver?" McKay answered testily, but nevertheless he started toward the door to take a look.

**

"It's no good, I can't raise them," Zelenka turned in exasperation toward Woolsey as he failed to receive even a test 'ping' from the Alpha team's radio equipment.

"What exactly did he say the last time you spoke to him?" Woolsey asked urgently.

"I don't know. He was rambling," Zelenka answered, "I tried to tell him about the Wraith but he was saying something about stables, and horses. What?" He frowned in confusion as a look of horror crossed Woolsey's face as he unfolded the tale.

"He was telling you he already knew about the Wraith," Woolsey turned to one of the technicians, "Instruct Bravo team to get themselves ready for a ground assault…" he started to turn back toward the bewildered Czech, but then added, "And have as many Jumper pilots as we can muster stand ready for air support."

"What did I do?" Zelenka asked, becoming more dismayed by the moment.

"It's not your fault," Woolsey said, turning back to him then, "I should have remembered that idiom is one of the last competencies to be mastered in a second language."

"Idiom? Colonel Sheppard used that word as well," Zelenka said as the control room came alive around him.

"He was implying that you telling him about the Wraith was like closing the door to the stable after the horses had already escaped. In other words, he already knew about the Wraith—"

"…because he was already their prisoner," Zelenka slapped himself across the forehead, his brilliant mind catching on very quickly. "Oh my God!"

"Never mind that," Woolsey answered, "Can you still dial the gate?"

"Provided the Wraith haven't dialled out to block any incoming wormhole, yes. I rigged a system to send the requested clearance code that was hidden in the subspace signature of the incoming wormhole from when Bravo team returned from the planet the first time."

"Good." Woolsey sighed, "As soon as Bravo team and the Jumper pilots are ready, dial M3X-667. Looks like it's down to us to pull Sheppard's ass out of the fire… again."

**

Sheppard walked away from where he'd been watching over McKay's shoulder and made his way toward where Ronon sat brooding in the corner of the room, leaving the scientist to work uninterrupted and in peace.

"What's bothering you?" he asked as he lowered himself to sit beside the Satedan.

"Why." Ronon answered.

"Because you've been sitting there and have hardly said a word sin—"

"No, 'why.' 'Why' is what's bothering me," Ronon corrected him. "If it was one of Michael's people that warned Ynek's people about what was going on and gave them the means to contact us, why? Why now and why here?"

"Well, because…" Sheppard started, but he found that he could no more answer the question than he suspected Ronon could.

"It's not as if it's even that unusual to find a community of Wraith worshippers on an outlying planet. People are doing anything and everything to escape the culling," Ronon continued, thinking out aloud. "No. There's something else. Something we're missing. What's here that Michael wants us to find out about?"

"Or what is he trying to draw us away from?" Sheppard put in his own thoughts to the mix.

"Maybe," McKay piped up from the doorway as he worked, "he's just trying to get us caught in a battle with the Wraith to let us destroy one another and make his job that much easier. Have you ever thought of that?"

"That's not his style," Sheppard shook his head. "Maybe as a secondary consequence, to cover his ass while he slips away unnoticed, sure. But not like this. Not so deliberately as this."

"Who is this 'Michael' of whom you speak?" Ynek looked over at Sheppard and fixed him with a querying look.

Sheppard sighed, unsure of how to answer that, to remain honest without tainting the way Ynek thought of them.

"He's a megalomaniac," Ronon answered for him, "A lunatic who thinks he's going to take over the galaxy and rule like some kind of god. He's dangerous."

"Actually—" Rodney turned his head from what he was doing, his fingers still working to manipulate the circuitry that he'd managed to expose.

"Rodney," Sheppard started to cut him off, but a loud fizzling sound, followed by the audible click of the lock disengaging did the job for him, as McKay let out a delighted little laugh.

"I did it!" he exclaimed in disbelief.

Sheppard jumped quickly to his feet, Ronon at his side, and went to open the door, before whatever McKay had done could reverse itself. He carefully looked first one way and then the other.

"Coast is clear… where do you think they've put our weapons and gear?"

"My guess would be this way," Ronon said, and took off before Sheppard could caution him for stealth. Sheppard looked at Ynek, meaning to ask him to follow. Ynek shook his head.

"You go," he said softly, "Now that I know the truth, I must stay and find my people."

**

"We have a lock on Colonel Sheppard's locator beacon," Zelenka announced, as calmly as he could, as he sat in the co-pilot's seat of Major Hollick's Jumper. "There's what appears to be some kind of settlement not far from the gate."

_"Any sign of the Wraith?"_ Woolsey asked, concern making his voice sound brittle.

"Not yet, we— wait… wait, yes. I'm picking up several energy signatures. They're Wraith!"

"Woolsey, this is Hollick," the Major cut in on Zelenka's nervousness.

_"Go ahead,"_ Woolsey answered.

"Looks like the Wraith may not be our only problem," he said. "Sensors are also picking up signs of battle – isolated pockets of weapons' fire. We'll be flying through those areas to get to Colonel Sheppard's position."

_"That can't be helped, Major,"_ Woolsey said.

"Sir, if any of that weapons' fire hits the Jumper, it could knock out our cloak, our weapons… we could be rendered non-operational."

_"That's as may be, but our first priority is to find Sheppard and the others and render assistance. Do whatever you need to do, but find the colonel."_

"Understood, sir," Major Hollick ended his communications link and grumbled softly to himself. It was only seconds later that the Jumper rocked under a sudden impact. Zelenka grabbed for the sides of the console, to steady himself, and he too began bemoaning their fate.

Several more impacts followed in the wake of the first and it soon became apparent that someone was firing at them.

"How are they seeing us?" Zelenka asked. He was speaking mostly to himself as he pulled up a display on the tablet he had plugged into the main sensors. Then he swore and started to get out of his seat.

"What it is, Zelenka?" Major Hollick demanded, fighting with the Jumper to keep it level, while taking a deliberately erratic flight path to deter the aim of their attacker.

"The first shot fried several of the minor circuits of our starboard drive pod. They're following our smoke trail." Zelenka answered, heading to the rear of the Jumper to activate the fire suppression system manually.

"Ah, hell!" the Major swore.

"It's not the end of the world, Major, don't worry," he said, without turning around.

"Fire's the least of our worries, Doctor," the Major retorted, and even as Radek turned to see what he was talking about, the major keyed his transmit button. "All units, be advised, we have incoming. Wraith darts – seven of them."

**

Ronon rounded the corner and almost ran straight into a pair of Wraith warriors. He managed to duck aside as the first of them took a shot and it skittered harmlessly along the wall. The big Satedan shifted his weight and lashed out with his foot, catching the Wraith warrior with a solid kick to the middle of his chest. He quickly grabbed the arm of the second and, spinning him around, smashed his face into the wall until the Wraith could no longer stand.

"Search quickly," he yelled back toward the others, "We've got company!"

He snatched the weapon from the fallen Wraith's hand and began to back up, firing at the oncoming group of warriors – four of them now, come to join their companions in the fight.

The unmistakable sound of a Dart flying overhead rumbled the walls around them as he reached the others, and pushed a startled Ynek into the lea of a doorway just as one of the leading Wraith warriors fired blind around a turn in the corridor.

"We need to find another way out of here," he told Sheppard unnecessarily. His friend was already turning to take the other direction.

"I found it!" McKay's shout came from the far end of the corridor, though the rest of what he said was drowned out by an explosion from the courtyard outside.

Sheppard turned his head to momentarily grin at Ronon. "I think maybe the cavalry has arrived."

Ronon made no reply, only shook his head, and pushed past his friend and into the room where McKay was triumphantly displaying their weapons. The rest of their equipment lay on a bench that ran the length of the room. Quickly Ronon snatched up his blaster, and Sheppard's P90, tossing it quickly to his fellow expedition member.

"Now all we need is a way out of here," he said pointedly. He flattened himself against the door and took several shots along the corridor in the direction from which they came.

Rodney gestured to a small terminal set against the far wall. "I may be able to help with that," he said, and headed that way to try and find the information that would get them out of their current, troubled, position and download the information onto his ever present tablet.

"Help quickly," Sheppard instructed, and stepped out into the corridor, firing his P90 in the wake of Ronon's shots.

**

They were following the trail left by the fleeing hybrids, trying to avoid the armed men that they assumed were locals, but the closer they got to the settlement, the more difficult that had become and they had found themselves, like now, caught in one skirmish after another. Then suddenly there were Wraith. It was as if they had crawled from the woodwork of the town, like cockroaches, Halling thought. He had seen no Wraith hive darken the sky above, nor had he yet heard the high pitched, irritating whining of Darts. All he knew was that the Wraith were there, and that they were as dangerous as he had ever seen.

After that, the fighting had gone from bad to worse. The natives, fighting against Halling and his men, were caught between the Athosians and the Wraith, and to Halling's dismay had turned on the Athosians, rather than what _he_ considered was the greater threat. Only in the course of the battle had he come to understand why.

"Wraith Worshippers!" he shouted in warning to his companions, and redoubled his effort against the wiry man who had, even now, wrestled him to the ground. Twisting and turning under the man, he managed to get himself free enough to raise his knee against the man's back and send him sprawling to the ground. It gave him time enough to find his feet, while his opponent did the same, and ready himself for the attack he knew would follow.

The man fought hard, giving no quarter, lashing out again and again, and not all of the jabs and punches missed their mark. Halling tried to block and answer the attacks, but he was tiring. It had been a long and physically demanding day.

An explosion shook the ground under Halling's feet and threw him toward his opponent, who likewise staggered and then looked around in surprise as, apparently from beneath the foothills themselves, like a swarm of angry mosquitoes, several Wraith darts had taken to the sky. At first they flew, arrow swift, overhead toward the location of the stargate, but then many of them turned in the air, and began to head back toward the settlement, firing as they came.

Halling ducked another wild swing by his opponent, at the same time trying to keep himself out of the path of the overhead Wraith Dart that had begun, as its companion vessels, making indiscriminate strafing runs at both the position of his Athosian warriors, and also at the settlement they had been approaching.

Mistaking the sudden desperation in his opponent's attacks as an assignation of blame, he called breathlessly into the fight, "You cannot blame me for this… This," he gestured with his head toward the bombardment that was occurring, "this is the way of the Wraith."

**

"I'm telling you, it's this way," McKay told Sheppard as they ducked around turn after turn in the maze of tunnels, now formed of natural rock, that they had taken away from the Haradian settlement.

"At least we lost the Wraith," Ronon chipped in.

"Lost them or _blasted_ them," Sheppard replied, as he glanced at his Satedan friend. Then he turned irritably back toward McKay, "Rodney, where the _hell_ are we?"

"I told you," McKay snapped back, "These tunnels lead directly into the caves in the mountain behind the Haradian settlement. Any minute now, we—"

"Rodney?" Sheppard didn't like the way he suddenly broke off. "McKay, talk to me."

"I think maybe we took a wrong turn," McKay answered breathlessly.

"What do you mea—?"

Sheppard broke off as he pushed past McKay out of the end of the narrow rock corridor. "Oh crap! Please tell me this is some kind of… joke."

"Well, we…" McKay started to answer, "we know that these people are Wraith worshippers, and… the Wraith will want somewhere they feel comfortable, won't they, so…"

McKay's voice trailed off as Sheppard gave him a look, and then took a hesitant step or two further into the chamber beyond where they stood. It was an unwelcome sight and yet almost as familiar as his own quarters – the sinuous walls, like darkened blood, and veined as though alive.

"McKay!" Ronon barked out a warning that made McKay jump and also pulled Sheppard out of his dark thoughts. He half turned to face Ronon, until he realised that the tracking device that the scientist held limply in his hand had started to bleep quietly.

McKay raised his hand until he could see the display and then announced, in a harsh whisper, "Three of them… coming this way."

"Get us out of this, McKay," Sheppard ordered and, gesturing to the three corridors that led away from the chamber, asked, "Which way?"

A moment passed before McKay tugged on his arm and nodded toward one of them, letting him take the front, while Ronon took point.

"Talk about 'out of the frying pan,'" he said quietly as he led the way further in, along corridors that were clearly no longer rock tunnels in the mountain. "This must be another facility like we found before… part of the landscape for god knows how long."

"Doesn't really matter, does it," Ronon growled from the rear. "It's Wraith, and we need to find a way out."

**

They had broken through at last. Found space to breathe and time to rest away from battle and from the constant threat of the Wraith. Halling did not know what had changed to draw the battle away from the chase he and his fellow Athosians made, but he was glad of it.

He took a deep breath, leaning against a nearby try as one of his men scoured the ground around them for clues, trying to straighten the facts that he knew, to make sense of them. What was here that could possibly have interested Michael? The local people, though Wraith worshippers, were unremarkable, and did not seem to possess any particular technology or gift, other than whatever the Wraith had rewarded them with. The landscape too, seemed ordinary. Nothing he had seen gave him cause to believe there was anything here that could be the reason for their presence.

"They doubled back," the voice of his companion interrupted his thoughts. "No doubt they are returning to the gate."

"Then that is where we must go," he answered, but even as he spoke, he knew they had little to no chance of catching up with them.

**

"This place is incredible," McKay looked up from his hand held device and fixed him, and then Ronon with an astonished expression. "It's huge!"

"Well, I'm sure that's all very fascinating," Sheppard answered, "but what we need is a way _out_ of here."

"And quickly," Ronon added.

"I'm working on it," McKay said, turning down another corridor. "It's just fascinating to see another of these facilities, I mean…" he turned again, still following directions on the device, "…it's no wonder they defeated the Ancients, outnumbered them I mean – with a facility like this at their disposal – I mean, who knows, this could even be their _primary_ facility. The possibilities are endless. They— whoa!"

Sheppard repeated McKay's "whoa!" as they came into the huge chamber. Easily the size of a football stadium, quite possible half as large again, and floor to ceiling it was filled with pods. The more disturbing was that each of the pods showed the faint silhouette of a Wraith occupant.

"Something tells me this is _not_ the way out," Sheppard breathed. "Rodney…!"

"Yeah… yeah, yeah, right…" McKay snapped out of his shocked stupor and once more consulted the tracking device in his hands. "Oh I see where we went wrong," he pointed behind him, "Back there, we took the leftmost fork when we should have taken the one next to it. _That _one leads to the outer wall of the facility." He started to walk back in that direction, shaking his head. "Amazing…"

Sheppard couldn't help but look back over his shoulder as he left the room to follow McKay and Ronon. So many Wraith… here, in hibernation, or still growing or… whatever the hell they were doing. It made every muscle in his body tighten just to think on it, and what it might mean.

"We'll come up on another large chamber just up ahead. We have to go through it to get to where we're going." McKay said cheerfully, "and then it's almost a straight shot to—"

He stopped speaking when Ronon grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him against the bulkhead wall, holding him there for a moment as he walked past. His steps were slow.

"What the hell is that?" Ronon said, looking up at the structure that graced the middle of the otherwise almost empty chamber. The dome shaped end of the structure was lighted with a faint orange glow, and constituted the end of a many facetted appendage that was bulbous and cylindrical. It was suspended from high in the darkness overhead, over an ovoid bed of a similar glowing redness that looked, for all the world, like an open suppurating sore. From its bulk ran thick, sinewy tendrils that ran to each of the walls – huge cable like lines.

At the base of the structure was a console, with two others that stood at the far side of the glowing pit beneath the dome. Frowning, Rodney approached it. Sheppard peered over his shoulder as he tried to make sense of the Wraith text scrolling over its small screen.

There was a sudden pulse, a change in the level of light from the end of the dome, and through the soles of his boots, Sheppard could feel a distinct vibration.

"Oh," McKay said, with an unmistakable tone of worry in his voice, "Oh no."

"Rodney, what did you do?" Sheppard growled.

"Nothing. I mean… I didn't do anything. It wasn't me…" McKay stammered. "It did it by itself, I mean…"

"What's going on?" Ronon asked, still watching the structure, and the glow that was coming from the end of the dome, and getting brighter.

"This isn't a Wraith genetic facility," McKay said, beginning to back away from the console, the horrified astonishment escalating in his voice with every word. "Not just a laboratory at all… it's a ship – a Hive… no, the mother of all Hives…"

Sheppard grabbed his arm, and started to heave him towards the exit on the far side of the chamber as he noticed that of a sudden, more of the lights on the console were flashing. "And it looks like it just got a wake-up call." he said urgently, "We have to leave. Now!"

"I'm right behind you," Ronon rumbled as the three of them made a desperate run for the doorway. Sheppard could definitely feel it now, the vibration through his feet – the humming of the ship's active status, like a heartbeat, or the pulse of the flow of blood through veins.

"How could I have been so _stupid_?" McKay whined as he hurried along beside Sheppard.

"Save the recriminations for when we get out of here," Sheppard snapped as they came to a junction in the corridor. "Which way?"

"Left," McKay said automatically, then quickly amended, "No, no, no – right. Go right."

"Left or Right, McKay – which is it?" Ronon asked, pulling his blaster, as all around them the waking ship began to be filled with waking Wraith.

"Right," McKay all but shouted, "I said right!"

Without waiting any longer, Sheppard gave another tug on McKay's arm and then set off along the hallway on the right. Part way down the corridor he spotted movement and, without waiting to see how many Wraith they were about to run into, he fired his P90 as they ran, feeling the heat of the shots from Ronon's blaster scorching his hair as he too fired to clear their way.

Their luck held. With the ship, and the Wraith within both in the process of waking after their long sleep, they were both sluggish. The combination of good old-fashioned percussion rounds, and Ronon's high energy weapon kept their pathway clear of Wraith, but one more obstacle remained in their path.

"Rodney, you better think of a way to get us out, once we reach the outer wall," Sheppard called back.

"According to the scans I took, this corridor should lead to another chamber like the one we came in on." McKay said breathlessly as he hurried to keep up.

"Yeah, well, with the ship awake and likely preparing for takeoff I wouldn't count on that any more." Sheppard retorted.

"Then what do we _do_?" McKay asked, panic colouring his voice.

"I don't know," Sheppard answered, skidding to a halt in a chamber that was as dead an end as ever he'd seen one. "You're the 'go-to' guy, so… go… to…!" he pointed to the far wall, where he assumed McKay's former exit would have been, while he took up a position in order to be able to defend against entry from two of the corridors that led out of the chamber. Ronon came to his side, turned so that he could do so for the remaining corridor.

"Here they come," Ronon warned softly.

"Work quickly, Rodney!" Sheppard called, and leaning over his P90 he began firing.

**

"What the hell…" Major Hollick quickly banked the Jumper as a large chunk of the mountainside came sailing toward his forward screen.

"Oh my God," Zelenka gasped, "it's a Hive ship."

"The mountain is a ship?" the major asked incredulously.

"No. _Inside_ the mountain is the ship. The magnetic properties of the rocks were masking it – preventing it from being picked up by our scanners," the scientist corrected him.

"And that's where Colonel Sheppard and the others were heading when you lost their signals?"

"I can only assume that their signals were also masked by the rocks, but… yes… yes, there they are, see…" he pointed at a spot on the HUD. "Now that there's a break in the rock for our sensors to penetrate…"

"That puts them inside the Hive," Hollick pointed out, and tried again to get in contact with Sheppard even as Zelenka answered him.

"Then we have to find a way to get them out of there. And fa—" Zelenka fell back in his seat and shielded his eyes against the bright flash that came from the side of the rising Hive ship.

**

Sheppard slapped another magazine home and resumed firing, his shots given counterpoint by the high pitched, musical sound of Ronon's blaster.

"McKay!" he shouted urgently.

"I'm going as fast as I can," McKay threw back at him, "but nothing's working. It's as thought the ship knows what I'm trying to do and is countering every bypass I ma—"

An explosion shook the chamber, and Rodney was thrown past him to slide across the floor and slam, stunned into the wall. At the same time, static burst into Sheppard's ear, eventually resolving itself into the urgent voice of Major Hollick.

_"—pard this is Hollick, please respond,"_

More urgent, however, was the sudden rush of air from out of the ship as it began to depressurise through the hole that had suddenly appeared in the side of the bulkhead wall. Ronon caught hold of Rodney as he started to slide toward that hole, but in truth they were none of them safe. Even at this relatively low altitude, explosive decompression was bad news.

At least, as they had closed the internal doors to protect themselves and the rest of the ship from the loss of atmosphere, the Wraith were no longer an issue. He braced himself as best he could, and keyed his earpiece, shouting above the rush of the wind.

"Hollick, this is Sheppard, where are you?"

_"Right outside, sir,"_ Hollick answered, almost calmly.

Sheppard frowned, and turned to peer into the dark that was lit only by the remaining fire of the burning material stuck to the side of the Hive ship. The darkness shimmered slightly and then resolved itself into the outline of a Puddle Jumper; its searchlights aimed their way.

Sheppard's mind raced over the possibilities until a plan resolved in his head. It was a risky one, and would require precision flying, but it was their only chance, especially as, even with a gaping hole in her side, the Hive ship was still climbing.

"Hollick, I want you to listen to me very carefully," He said, glancing back toward Ronon. "I need you to open the rear hatch of the jumper, turn around and approach the Hive. Our only chance is to make a jump for it."

_"Colonel?"_ Hollick queried, in a voice that revealed just how insane he thought his superior office to be.

"No time to argue, soldier." Sheppard ordered, "Do it. Match the Hive's altitude and rate of assent. We're only going to get one shot at this."

"What about McKay?" Ronon asked.

"One of us will have to stay here with him while the other goes over to toss a line across. We're just going to have to haul him across."

Ronon nodded. "I'll do it," he said.

Sheppard met his eyes for a long moment, before he turned his attention back to the gaping tear in the side of the Hive ship. Outside, and more than a little unsteady, the rear of the open Jumper compartment began to resolve itself out of the darkness – coming closer.

"Keep it coming, Major," Sheppard shouted into his com. "Little more… let the Jumper help you… it's all in the genes…"

He swallowed hard, looking through the gap into the inky darkness below… the uninviting plunge. The space between the hole in the side of the ship, and the Puddle jumper was relatively narrow, but still, if he mistimed the jump… if the Hive suddenly accelerated, or a hundred other things that he could not foresee.

"We don't have a choice," Ronon said as though he could read his mind.

"Right… yeah," he said and took a deep breath. "All right, Major… hold her steady. Steady now…"

Taking another breath, and a few steps backwards, Sheppard steeled himself for the moments to come. Without thinking too much about what he was doing, he suddenly launched himself toward the gaping hole in the side of the ship. At the last moment he leaped, his legs still wheeling in the air beneath him. His lungs strained, his arms and legs flailed and it seemed to him that the Puddle Jumper was no nearer than before. With panic starting to grip his heart and squeeze its beating to a near standstill he closed his eyes…

The shock of hitting the metal deck of the Jumper's rear cargo bay drove what remained of the air from his lungs. The next thing he knew was that hands were pulling at him, trying to sit him upright.

"Colonel Sheppard," Zelenka said urgently, "talk to me."

"I'm all right," he whispered, breathless. He pulled himself up to a sitting position and looked around him, trying to locate the equipment he would need. "Help me find a line."

"Whatever you're going to do, Colonel, you'd better hurry," Hollick called through from the cockpit. "I think the Hive just caught on."

"What do you mean?" he called back as he searched for something that could act as a rope or line by which they might get McKay back to the Jumper

"They just shifted attitude – looks like they're planning a roll, but a ship that size, it takes time to manoeuvre."

"Damn it!" Sheppard growled, and started throwing things out of the storage locker to get to the equipment stored at the bottom.

"Got it," Zelenka announced triumphantly from the other side of the cargo hold, and turned to present him with a weapon that looked like a harpoon, with a long length of lightweight metal line attached to the end.

"Now we're talking," he grinned, and approached the back of the Jumper. Urgently he told Zelenka, "Tie off the other end to something secure. Keep us close, Hollick."

"Close as I can, sir."

Quickly he held up the launcher to show Ronon, and then gestured for him to move aside, before he took a careful aim, and fired.

For a moment he was sure he could taste his heart beating in his mouth as the metal spike wobbled in trajectory. He feared he hadn't made allowances for the air current, or for the attitude of the ships in relation to one another, but then the metal disappeared into the darkness of the ship… and he thought he heard Ronon complementing him on his shot, now all he could do was wait, and be ready to help when Ronon got McKay across to his side.

**

As soon as the line embedded itself deeply into the far side of the chamber, Ronon began to search for what he might need. He could feel the ship beginning to tip beneath him, and knew he would not have long… that he had no choice. He would have to carry McKay. The two of them would have to go together… and speed was of the essence.

Quickly he reached down and unfastened the webbing belt that held McKay's equipment to his waist, and with it began to bind the scientist hands together at the wrist. He made doubly sure that everything was as tight and secure as it could be. If it came loose, he would lose McKay into the night. Next he pulled off his own gun belt and slipped his blaster carefully inside his clothing so as not to lose it. He tested the strength of the leather by looping it around his own wrists, and pulling it tight between them. Only when he was satisfied did he return to McKay, lift the man's bound hands and slip them over his shoulders.

It took him a moment to get the scientist settled on his back in a position where he would be secure, without the tethered hand pressing against his windpipe and throttling him, but soon he was ready, and approached the hole in the side of the ship. Holding the looped belt in one hand he gestured to Sheppard with the other to reduce the altitude of the Jumper by just a little, before throwing the free end of the leather belt over the line, and then wrapping it around his free hand.

He waited… it seemed forever to him, before the Jumper was in position, until the moment came for him to step – literally into thin air.

His arms jarred, and for a terrifying instant the leather slipped in his hands. He tightened his grip, and letting out a roaring cry, began to zip down the line toward the Puddle Jumper, gathering momentum as he went.

Timing would be critical. If he let go of the line too soon, he would fall short of his target, and he and McKay would plummet to their deaths. If he let go too late, they would collide with the bottom edge of the Jumper's rear bay. It would likely break his arms, and the outcome would be the same. He counted the seconds in his head, the roaring of his voice matching that of the wind that was all that he could hear. At the last possible second, he let go…

**

**Act 5**

"The point is, Colonel," Woolsey said, retaking his seat, "that I ordered you not to get involved and you went anyway."

"And you ordered Bravo team in after us and started off a fight," Sheppard countered. "You can't sit there and say 'I told you so.'"

"Because of this mission, yet again, we lost valuable equipment, and could have lost lives."

"Could have," Ronon growled from where he sat, one arm resting in a sling across his chest, "but didn't."

"The mission was not without casualties," Woolsey said, looking pointedly at his arm.

"I'm fine," Ronon fired back.

"And Doctor McKay?" Woolsey tried to press his point.

"Aside from a few broken ribs," Keller said softly, "he's fine. He'll make a full recovery."

"So no harm done." Sheppard said cheerfully – overly so.

"Colonel Sheppard, might I remind you—" Woolsey began, but Sheppard, tired of his constant nay saying interrupted.

"Look, Mister Woolsey, what you've got to understand is that this _isn't_ the Milky Way Galaxy and things don't _work_ here the way they do back home. Out here in the Pegasus Galaxy, we've found diplomacy rarely works, and when you're talking about the Wraith and those that follow them, forget it. It's brutal out here. _They're _brutal."

"I understand that, Colonel, perhaps better than you think. But my point is that if this expedition is going to continue to survive in this galaxy, there has to be some kind of respect for the chain of command."

"Mister Woolsey," Sheppard started, "Believe it or not, I _do_ respect that, but I also know when to _challenge _that. If we hadn't gone out there, we would never have _known_ about the Wraith in that sector, or the existence of that… Super-Hive, or whatever the hell it was."

Woolsey nodded, "It's a fair comment, Colonel, but doesn't it present us with more problem and questions? Doesn't it also underline the necessity for us to concentrate on the defence of this base _from_ such things as that?"

"But that's just the point," Sheppard leaned forward as he spoke. "We can't _do_ that without allies; without people that can help us out with the supplies and the information that we need."

"And there are also people out there that need our help," Keller put in, "that come to us for help, we can't just… turn them away. We have a responsibility to them."

"I think, Doctor Keller, than you and I are going to have to disagree on that," he held up his hand to stop the comeback that Sheppard could already see her formulating. "Medical ethics aside, I think you have your work cut out for you _here._"

"Look," Sheppard cut in, "Bottom line – that Hive is going _somewhere_ and for our own safety, and that of the rest of the Galaxy, we need to find out where… and that means we _can't_ pull in our boundaries. Not yet, perhaps not ever." He sighed. "Maybe once, we had that option, Mister Woolsey, but not any more."

Woolsey sighed, but did not interrupt.

"Secondly, whatever way you look at it, we need to get out there and find Teyla," he held up his hand this time to stop Woolsey from jumping down his throat. "Doctor Keller needs the serum to be able to help Major Lorne. Find Teyla, we find Michael."

"For once, I can't argu—" Woolsey broke of, and looked toward the door. "Yes, what is it?"

"Sorry to interrupt, Mister Woolsey, but a few minutes ago we started picking up a signal on our long range sensors…" the technician glanced over at Sheppard before he continued, "I think you're going to want to see."

**

The heavy metal door stood open. The oxidised walls of the room dripping in the reds and greens of rust, and forgotten equipment, remnants of a desperate time, lay strewn across a floor that was dusty with neglect.

A heavy metal bench graced the centre of the room. Bloodied swabs and callous looking instruments, abandoned in a hurry, burdened its surface, and in the corner, broken medical machinery still sparked out its last, dying breath.

She lay pillowed in the dust; watched over by the solitude; mourned only by the rust that ran, as tears, down the filthy wall… her pallid flesh picked out by fading light and her last breath heard by none save the lone whine of one retreating craft.

fin


End file.
